Cancer and Queens

I sat in the chemo room and looked around.  All of the ladies looked like they were at a salon.  Their hair was perfectly groomed.  “Bob” hairstyles seemed to be the wig style of the year.  I had to admit, they all looked better than I.  My hair, known for its thick, wavy curls, was not as coiffed.  It looked wild compared to the sleek wigs perched upon bare heads.  I wore little make-up, yet they all looked so beautiful and valiant and regal as they sat in their plush chairs with IV’s stuck in their chest or arm, wearing gorgeous colors on their faces, matching their perfect outfits befitting a Newport crowd.  Yes, we looked as if we were at a salon that day.  I half expected to see women with their feet stuck in a spa bath while their nails were manicured.

This was my first experience with chemotherapy.  I never expected to hear the words “You’ve got cancer,” but I did.  That day, my world changed.  That day, I saw the world differently.  I may have glamorized the chemo room a bit, thus softening the reality of this devastating disease, but that was what I needed, and, it seemed, all of the ladies needed to do.  We needed to feel as if our weekly 4-hour treatments were just another salon visit.  We needed to laugh and laugh because we were all facing the reality that we may not win this battle. 

Some were older.  Others were younger.  I remember thinking how it saddened me that a young woman, no more than 19 years, was sitting in the salon chair with her brown, bob cut wig on.  She was too young to be battling such a disease.  What about college?  Sports?  Friends? Sororities?  Dating?  Travel?  Will she ever find love from a man who will understand she can never have kids?  Will she ever live the life of a college student – the carefree life full of finding out who you are, and arguing your convictions until dawn?

That was 8 years ago.  I have been cancer free for 8 years now.  As I turn another year older, in a few days, I reflect on what it means to be cancer free - what I have given up to hold onto that identity.  I do not give up my precious memories of my baby boy entertaining all of the ladies – giving them the much needed smiles on their beautiful faces.  I do not give up my memory of the sun on my face as I visit Fashion Island to rest up before my body and I battle the chemotherapy just inserted into my blood stream – a battle I will experience that same night.  I do not give up my memory of lying in bed shivering and listening to the cars pass by, giving me hope that I will emerge once again and join the world of those who truly live.  No, I do not give these memories up.  Nor do I give up the memories of “the Salon Ladies.”  I remember, because it is in memories that we continue to fight and live. 

May I live and live and never forget that at any time those 3 little words can be spoken, thus changing my world yet again.  If you happen upon this blog, and are battling cancer, I pray that you find strength to fight and to see the beauty in the struggle.  Remember, the lotus blossom emerges through the muddy waters, and it emerges as a Queen – just like my regal “Salon Ladies.”  And, you, too, will emerge as royalty – changed forever – reborn into the amazing gift that is you.

Blessings and faith,

Summer

*Dedicated to Mary Herczog who died February 16, 2010.  She was a Queen.