Back to 'normal'

But what is 'normal'? It's been so long since anything about life felt normal that I've kind of forgotten what it felt like. One thing (aside from my hair - more about that later!) that is getting back to normal is the way my brain makes associations with certain foods, places and even words. The words is the most interesting to me - anyone who has never had chemo/cancer would never think that ordinary words can take on such negative connotations that they can make you recoil in a gagging ball at the sheer mention of them. For example: Shots (went from fun tiny alcoholic beverages to pain inducing, self injectable little needles of hell), Saltwater (went from sea, holiday, swimming to nauseating 4 times daily mouth rinsing), flush (the function of a toilet? Nope, little syringes of saline that are pushed into your veins 27 times per hospital visit), dressing (the act of putting on clothes? or the bandages that cover the cuts, scars, and permanent tubes hanging from your arms soaking up the blood that permanently leaks due to blood thinners?), drip (probably one of the worst, no longer something that happens to a tap but instead the little drip drip drip you watch for hours on end willing the IV bag to empty into your veins faster so you can get rid of it), alcohol (this is NOT as much fun to have swabbed over your open wounds as it is to drink. And the smell. Bleugh), piece (everyday word, or wig?) rads (radiators? or radiation?), mass (catholic church service or tumour?) and it goes on and on and on.... But nearly 4 months on (WOW!) the negative connotations are giving way to the old meanings again. When something chemo-ey pops into my head now I smile to myself. The same thing happens with the very words 'cancer' and 'chemo'. These words become a strange badge of honour, something to be proud of. I did that. I always did wonder is it possible to finish chemo and be proud as opposed to afraid? I'm proud of what I achieved last year. I'm proud to be out the other side. I'm still afraid that I'll be catapulted back into that world, one more mutated cell is all it takes. I guess you can be scared and proud at the same time.

In the spirit of returning to normality I ditched the wig this week. A full week of no wig. I think too little emphasis is given to the trauma of going through the hair regrowth stage. You imagine losing it will be difficult, and that having none will be difficult but assume that when you start sprouting again all hair and image issues will suddenly disappear. Wrong. I went from curls down my back to this. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to have it, but it's still not me. The first time I tried to venture out without a wig/hat last week I cried in the car. I was only going to the hardware shop (surely this is somewhere a shaved headed woman wouldn't be too conspicuous?!). It was terrifying! Like I was naked. Then I came to the same realisation I came to the day my hair started falling out - this is just how I look now. For a while. And so, a whole week, no wig.

I am minus 20lbs of the 40lbs that I put on in the couple of months of pre-diagnosis eating and sleeping and the 6 chemo/steroid months. They fell off with very little effort for the most part. It's getting tougher though so I think some serious dieting and mild exercise (still too unsure of my lungs to attempt anything else) is in order.

I also have been back at work full time since January 2nd. I don't feel any more tired than I would have before I got sick. Overall I was pretty surprised at how well I coped and also how it instantly felt like last year never happened. Life as usual. The world carries on. And for this I am very grateful.

Hair picture anyone?! This is my new do. This week. Who knows by next week!

Goodbye for now blog world, I know from the stats that this blog still gets approx 200 views a day. I hope that means that someone, somewhere is benefiting from it. If you're in the midst of it, keep going, the end and normality IS near. Really soon, you're going to be very proud of yourself.