Hyperactive Hair...

Ut-oh...
I see you there, in the shadow on the bathroom stall wall. Sticking up off the top of my head like a cockatiel's crest. 

My Hair.

oh my.

Look in the mirror and just burst into laughter.  I accept. But it is still funny.  This crazy ass hair that won't sit down... maybe my hair has ADHD.  Perhaps it needs more exercise and less sugar.  All I know is that it WILL NOT BEHAVE.

I have tried gel, brushing when wet, not brushing when wet, scrunching, blow drying (this was a big YIKES!!) resorted to scarves, hats, hairbands.  It is officially out of control.

I know now why I have always enjoyed my long hair- it was so much more manageable.  If it started acting up, a brush and a pony tail holder were all I needed to whip it into submission.  It was like having a good, old dog that understands how things work- we don't bark at everyone and everything, we don't jump up on people (especially sleeping people...), we don't beg at the table, we come when called.  This new hair, this short, curly wild hair, is like having a puppy- no manners and everywhere at once.

If only my hair was this cute...

I suppose, like a puppy, this hair will grow up and settle down.  The problem is this: we tolerate puppies' crazy behavior because they are so cute.  My hair? not so much.  I guess I will just have to tolerate it because it is attached to my head.

The Journey

Do you see the upside down heart?  My sweet cousin Lisa pointed it out to me!

It was about this time last year that I started my journey with breast cancer. I could no longer ignore the lump I kept feeling in my right breast.  Could no longer push it off as swelling associated with my period or maybe a bump or bruise.  I went to my doctor, assuming I would get the exams, tests, etc. and be told- “oh, it is just a little, benign mass.  You have nothing to worry about.”  Of course, that is not what I heard.  I heard the dreaded words carcinoma and invasive.

You can read about my experience here: The Saga, The Saga Part 2, and Chemo Sucks

I am thinking about it now, not necessarily because of the anniversary, but because another one of my friends has recently been diagnosed.  She started her chemotherapy this week.  And then the clerk at the local convenience store,  who is also a friend and knows my story, told me that one of her customers had also just been diagnosed and did I know of a support group.  “I don’t know of a support group, but I am willing to be a support, here is my phone number, please share it with her.”

When I was first diagnosed, I was amazed at the number of women (that I knew-personally) that told me that they had either had or were very close to someone who had breast cancer.  The press calls breast cancer an epidemic.  Hearing that and knowing that are two different things.  An epidemic seems impersonal.  and "over there" not raging through my small town community.

In light of this epidemic, here are some things that I have learned on my journey.

Blame is useless.

I have blamed myself for my cancer.  I must have done/ not done, eaten/ not eaten, drunk/not drunk something wrong. 

I have blamed my environment. I must have been exposed to, involuntarily ingested, breathed in some toxin.

I have blamed my genetic makeup.

In the end, it doesn’t matter.  Whatever made the cancer grow, made it grow.  That revelation doesn’t mean that I will throw up my hands and just do whatever I want now- I will continue to eat a healthy diet, keep my weight down, keep my alcohol consumption under control.  What it means is that life is a crap shoot.  We try as hard as we can, do our best and “bad” things can still happen.

Pain is pain.  And pain is universal.

Although I am supremely grateful for the ease of my treatment and the quick return of good health, I still struggle with what this disease has stolen from me.  It stole my unwavering belief in my strong healthy body.  It stole my complacence that death is far away and abstract.  It stole my shaky, yet emerging, sense of confidence in my physical appearance. 

Most literally, most immediately, it stole my breasts and my hair. My hair is returning, slowly, slowly.  Currently I am stuck as the 1980’s version of Pat Benatar, but boobless and not as badass.  It’s hard, although not as hard as the 2 weeks ago Mon Chi Chi look. 

 

Mon chi chi, Mon chi chi...

 It whittles away at my self esteem, which is already sort of a meringue and toothpick sort of affair.  It makes me face up to how vain I am and have always been.  I didn’t feel vain, but the Universe apparently felt I was and sought to help straighten that out. 

My boobs. My boobs are gone and they ain’t coming back.  I am okay with it. and I’m not.  It depends on the day minute.  Physically it feels fine.  When I am walking around, I feel thin and strong- powerful even.  If only mirrors could reflect back how we feel instead of what we actually look like…

So here I am. Struggling.  Struggling and feeling small about it.  Is it really appropriate for me to struggle with my outward appearance when I could have died?  Can I really feel “less than” and boyish and not good enough when I kicked cancer ass last year?

Apparently, the answer to all those questions is yes.

It is uncomfortable for me to write about this and share that my armor of self-confidence and good spirits and happy-happy may have a pretty big chink in it.  But I am doing it.  I am doing it because it is okay.  And it is important to share that it is okay.

We all walk around with our game face on.  Showing that we are invincible.  Taking life’s knocks and keeping a smile.  I applaud this- it is important not to fold up and blow away with every little ripple. 

Equally important, and I am just beginning to fully realize this, is to recognize that sometimes you need to embrace your frailty.  And that there is no reason to try and quantify that frailty, if that were even possible.  Pain is pain, ours is not to judge, but to be kind and learn.  To hold ourselves, as we would our lover or our child, and let ourselves hurt. 

Because ultimately, it will be okay and the sun will shine again.

Be well my blog readers.  I hope that your sun is shining this week!

A Poem

You can blame it on Anna, my poem minstrel friend.

or on the fact that I have to move work spaces, so I have to clean out my desk.

or this weird bout of "spring cleaning" that I have been experiencing.

But, whatever the reason, I have come up with a poem.  That I wrote.  It was buried under some work related papers in my paper sorter.

and, since I never, ever throw anything away, ever- I even had an electronic version saved, so I don't even have to re-type it.

It was a response to some type of writing prompt, which I can no longer remember, so I can't take the credit for being super creative.  However, it is still a poem and a super feat for a linear, science brain!

Behold, the poem: (it's about me)

Lorie

Joyful, playful, healthy, fun

daughter of stoic, driven European immigrants

lover of………       riding horses through green mountain meadows

                     bright yellow sunflowers in dark blue vases…

                           brilliant full moons peeking in my nighttime window

Who feels grateful to be here, overwhelmed by the bounty of a joyous life and also deeply sorrowful over the suburbanization of our world.

Who finds happiness in spending time with her one true love,

working, laughing, loving.

Who needs big open spaces filled with animals and flowers.

Who gives her heart, and

Who fears it won’t be returned.

Who would like to see society valuing the earth over profit.

Who enjoys porter style beers that taste like chocolate milk…

Who likes to wear her hair down, held back from her face by a small, sparkly dragonfly comb- that used to be mom’s.

Resident of the Big Sky country, Hartsong Ranch

 So there it is.  A poem.

and a photo of my cute horse from August!

Have a happy weekend!

Angst

My friend Anna, who is uber-awesome, is writing a poem a day as her 2014 challenge.  That is 365 poems, for any of my numerically challenged readers, and that is a shit-pile of poems.  Here is the link to her blog, in case you are a poemaholic. Ingenious Torture (cool name, no?)

I am not a poemaholic and I have confessed to dear Anna that I prefer her prose on each blog post to her poems.  That does not mean her poetry is bad or that poetry in anyway is inferior to prose, my mind just works better in straight lines. No jazz, no abstract paintings, no chaotic juxtaposition of words or images for this linear, science brain.  It may be why I love weaving with its straight, logical sequence of events.

This?  YES

This? Not so much. (Rod Seeley)

This logical, sequential way of experiencing the world definitely has its advantages- project follow through, detail oriented task mongering, solving math problems...  it does, however, have its drawbacks- free flowing creativity is not my strong suit, I don't get to hang out in dark, smoke-filled rooms talking philosophy with beautiful, long haired, flowing shirt beatniks because jazz music makes my head want to explode.  All in all, having a linear brain is not nearly as cool as having a poem brain... although, I do appreciate my way of being and tax time doesn't really stress me out, so that's a bonus.  It also means, however, that I have to strike while the iron is hot- if I get an inspiration, I need to go with it immediately or it gets left in the stream- BACK THERE.

I had not intended to write about my linear way of being, I intended to write about angst (thus the title).  The idea came to me from reading Anna's poem Incantation - well, let's be honest, from reading her prose surrounding the poem.  So to come full circle (which is still linear, if you go slow enough) here are my thoughts about her thoughts.

 Anna writes about stress.  How ubiquitous it is and how we use that word to describe every feeling we have that we don't like.  I agree.  And I love her description of our students' relationship with it.  She  discusses how stress evolved to keep our bodies safe, but has turned on us in modern life and started attacking us, much like a feral dog that bites you because you have trapped it in a corner.  I believe we have trapped our stress response in a figurative corner and this is causing a lot of modern day issues, health and mental.  One most pressing and obvious- Angst.

Angst- (From the online version of the Merriam Webster dictionary): a strong feeling of being worried or nervous : a feeling of anxiety about your life or situation.

Anna's musings about stress made me think about angst.  Anxiety.  Worry, nerves, fear. My husband and I have ongoing discussions about this.  It seems to be an ever increasing issue.  Not so much for us.  I mean we have the regular worries about money, our animals, our health, but nothing overwhelming.  Nothing that stops our lives.  Yet, we hear others talking about this debilitating level of anxiousness. About having to take medication for anxiety.  While I have no problem with people taking the medication they need to live their lives to the fullest, I do wonder where all this anxiety is coming from.

I blame modern society.

OH! that is a broad, sweeping accusation, is it not?  But look at it this way: our nervous system evolved to deal with a certain amount of struggle (avoiding saber-toothed tigers and finding food and shelter).  We are chemically primed for fight or flight.  What happens to those chemicals when your biggest daily struggle is picking out which shoes to wear?  They are still there, ready to do their job, but without real, physical struggle all they manifest is worry and anxiety. 

If one had to spend all day physically working to get fuel for a fire, meat to cook, hauling water (you get the picture) one would not have a lot of energy left to worry about, let's say... whether your mother in law thinks you keep the house clean enough.  Which causes you stress, which causes your body to secrete the fight or flight chemicals which you can't really use, because honestly you can't out run or fight a thought.  Now you have this chemical storm going on and no real resolution (if you were trying to out run that tiger, you either would or you would get eaten.  Either way- situation resolved.  With thoughts, not so much.)

Modern society has made our lives so ultra convenient that instead of burning up physical energy doing something productive and useful, instead of building confidence and strength with struggle, we are left watching TV and worrying whether our electronic device is as good as the one in the commercial.

What's the solution?  Obviously, physical struggle.  And I am not joking about that.  I feel pretty well grounded, grateful, mostly balanced, happy.  I believe that is because I work hard, physically, when I am able.  I tote hay and water, shovel shit, dig in the dirt, ride horses - all these sorts of primitive things. Because the reward is in the struggle.

Sweat is good!

I believe if, as a society, we moved back towards doing things with our hands and bodies, as much as we are able, a lot of the angst would fade away.  We could un-corner our stress, let the feral dog run free.  Use our stress hormones to produce something useful, instead of slowly killing us.

I dare you to try it.  When you are feeling stressed or anxious do something physical- walk around the block, jump rope, wrestle with your dog (or kid if you have one), dance till you are gasping.  Do enough physical activity to make you tired, panting for breath tired, and see what happens with your anxiety.  I bet that saber-toothed tiger can't catch you.