I had a few days in a row without tears. Up to, and including, my second round of chemo. Then my hair fell out on Friday. Well, to be honest, first a handful of my pubes came out. Then I reached up to do my hair and it started coming out. Handful after handful after handful. Until the sink was overfilled with my hair. Why does cancer have to be so damn dramatic?
At first I was fine. Mac and I went to the wig store and picked out a couple of wigs. Malachi came over with clippers to shave the rest of my head. Belinda came over and gave me a headwrap refresher and she and Erin helped me pick out two wigs that were a little less crazy than the ones Mac and I had chosen.
My head looks gnarly. I have a few swaths that are still completely smooth from the cell death hair loss following brain radiation. Then the rest of my head is more stubbly. And, of course, there’s a huge scar taking up a good amount of real estate.
It feels stupid to say it, but the level of anxiety I have about the possibility of my eyebrows falling out is through the roof. It’ll probably happen. So there’s that.
Everything feels extra fraught right now. Like I’m convinced I’m going to die next week. Mac helps keeps me grounded in the present. He reminds me of a more full truth of each moment.
A truth is that today during physical therapy I got to lay on a mat and get stretched out while also looking over at a smiling Mac and a sleeping support dog. There’s nothing wrong with that.
Another truth is that I can’t feel my left leg in space. So every 30 seconds on the exercise bike I would notice that my foot wasn’t even on the pedal anymore. But each time, I lifted it back up and placed it back where it belonged.
Another truth is that 3 months ago I was in a hospital bed with a hemorrhaged brain tumor and the best option for going to the bathroom was simply to pee on myself and then call the nurse to change my pee pads. Today, I am walking around without even a cane (most days). Even on the worst days of chemo, I can get myself right to the bathroom on time and on my own.
I guess that’s to say I’m trying to widen my view a bit. And take more control of the narrative. It’s been a lot worse. It’s going to get worse again. Today, though? I guess it’s just fine.
Another truth: As long as I have known you your ability to hold joy, practicality and humor together at once no matter what is happening is an astounding thing to witness.
Another truth: Your scars are awe-inspiring!
Another truth: Your style is on fleek, always.
Another? Hair will come back, and your face is stunning.
Last one, though I could go on, you are beloved.
I love these truths!
My heart is with you. We don’t have to be close for you to be my hero.
Thank you so much. (Re)Connecting with you has been a real gift to me.
Dear Alana, we don’t know each other but we share a passion for social justice and a large group of common colleagues. Six years ago, I was diagnosed with breast cancer and in a year’s time, went through a mastectomy, chemo, complete hair loss and excruciating bone pain. As I read about your battle, I gain perspective on mine. You are amazing! And I just plainly ship your relationship with Malkia. Nothing I can say will make your situation better but please know that you are amazing and have inspired and reframed my notions of pain, love, survival and heroism.
Forever in your debt,
Berta
Thank you for sharing a little sliver of your story. It’s an honor to share mine with you as well. All best to you!
And ANOTHER truth is that you’re amazing and beautiful and brave and honest and inspiring and a joy and ANOTHER truth is that you are so loved and cherished.
Love.
Beautiful
Who *needs* hair, anyway? And you got the best haircut of all! I can’t wait to see all the wigs. 🙂 I adore you and this post is just wonderfully real. ❤️
❤️❤️❤️ Can’t wait to see you soon!
Though my very low buzz cut is by choice, I still believe hair is overrated. Purple wigs? They’re the beez kneez. Big hugs to you and Mac.
❤️
I think the world of you and inspired by your truth, resilience, determination and drive. You are wonderful and real. Blessings and hugs, Alana. Blessings and hugs.
Blessings and hugs right back to you!
You are beautiful. Full stop. I have many scars… from spending 10 days in the burn unit, cigarette burns, a hysterectomy, various injuries arising from things both beautiful and terrifying. I love them all. Yours are also beautiful, in all their gnarly power. A testament to your strength, resilience, vulnerability, and love. Xo
Thank you for this. xo
I think your gnarly head looks bad-ass. Keep fighting, keep putting your straying foot on that pedal. May all the supporters you have somehow help to make the good cells outnumber the bad cells… sending love and strength to you.
Thank you!
The fact that you’re even on that bike is utterly inspiring. And you rock anything you put on your head.
aw, thanks, Ross!
Sending love and healing blessings from east Africa. Keep your head up in the water sister…and swim or float on! You got people around the world cheering you on!
Thank you so much!