Who Is That Bald Girl In The Mirror?

I am a cancer survivor. I was diagnosed with stage III invasive lobular breast cancer in September of 2007; I was 43 years old.

It was summer 2007; my husband and I were taking the kids on a “driving” vacation to the Grand Canyon, Sedona Arizona and then topping it all off with a few days at Lake Havasu. The kids were not thrilled about the trip, especially because we were driving, “how boring!”

The dampened spirits of the kids were not going to affect us because we knew this would be special and it might be the last trip the four of us would take as a family since the kids were getting older.

My current job was just that, a job. I was not happy there and I was waiting to hear from another company about a recent interview. The company was a medical device company, which is an industry that I am familiar with and was excited to get back into. We put everything aside for a week and took off.

The trip was wonderful and, as we had suspected, the kids had a wonderful time. Hot air ballooning in beautiful Sedona, a baseball game in Phoenix, the Grand Canyon and even a trek through an old ghost town ... what can I say, it was perfect. While we were in Sedona I also received a call from the company I had interviewed with and was made an offer. I wanted to call my job right then and there and say “I’m done. I quit, thanks for the memories.” Instead I waited until we came home from the trip, accepted the offer (hooray) and gave my notice. This summer was turning out to be a great one.

The first day of my new job was great; my new boss and I clicked immediately, the other members of the staff were great, really sweet people whom I hoped wouldn’t turn into monsters after a few weeks.

Driving home from my first day on the job, my cell phone rang, I saw it was my husband and was excited to tell him about my first day. The tone in his voice made me stop and just listen, “honey, you need to come home and call your doctor.” I didn’t really ask any questions because I knew what he was talking about. I had a mammogram before I left on vacation and pretty much expected the response I always received, “you have very dense breasts Susan, but nothing abnormal, we will see you next year.”

You would think that I drove faster, started panicking or started crying. I honestly don’t remember the drive home, I was on autopilot and I would imagine that nothing was going through my head at that time … I believe I was numb, in a state of suspended animation.

I got home and called the doctor; put her on speaker phone actually so that my husband could hear what she had to say. My doctor spit it right out; I had a very large tumor in my right breast and would need to come in and discuss treatment immediately. My world changed forever. My mind felt like it was spinning with questions, I needed to find out my options, talk to my family, oh heavens, my new boss! What do I tell him? Why was this happening to me? Why now, when things were going so well. Still, I didn’t cry, not yet.

The appointments with the doctors and specialists were a blur; if it weren’t for my husband Bill, I have no idea what I would have done. My husband came with me to every appointment; every consultation and he would take notes, and hold my hand. I am so blessed.

Telling my boss was not as difficult as I had thought, and the strong, confident voice that came out, astonished even me. I was going to fight this and I had every intention of working through the treatment and returning to this office full time as soon as humanly possible. I will work through the treatments and only take days off when absolutely necessary. Where did this woman come from? It sure didn’t sound like me.

My boss was impressed and assured me that my job would be here and he would support me through this. Matthew, my boss, had such a great outlook and was just as positive about the situation as I was. I still remember him sending me an e-mail entitled “bald girls that are hot,” where he listed as many bald actresses, singers, etc. I was surrounded by some wonderful people. Matthew was just one of the many.

Cancer was now a part of my life; it did not define me, but it did hijack my energy and my looks for quite some time.

I ended up having stage III lobular cancer in my right breast that was a sized 8.0 cm tumor. It wasn’t a tumor like you would imagine; a solid mass. It was more like fingers that encompassed a large part of the breast. My right breast would have to be removed completely. When it came to making the decision, I didn’t hesitate, take them both … and let’s do it now. Bill was in total agreement.

Surprisingly, I wasn’t afraid; I knew deep down that I would be okay. I would have both breasts removed and get through whatever treatment the doctors recommended.

The days between getting the news of my impending doom and the actual surgery seemed to breeze by. My husband and I sat our kids down in the backyard to give them the news. The reaction from them both was pretty much what I expected. My daughter started to tear up and came over to sit next to me; my son sat in utter silence and wouldn’t make eye contact with me. It was what I expected but knowing what to expect didn’t make it any easier. At this point, I really didn’t know what was going to happen, I just knew I had cancer and it basically infested my right breast already.

Telling family was too difficult for me. I asked my husband to let his mother and sister know because I didn’t want to hear the sadness in their voices. My mother, grandmother and sisters were another story. I told my mother and asked that she let my sisters know. My mother has always been an incredibly strong woman, a breast cancer survivor herself, she never looked at these types of things as dire; rather more of a bump in the road that you needed to get past. Her daughter had cancer and was going to survive it just like she and her sister had. One of my sisters did call me and I told her I just didn’t want to discuss it; I wasn’t ready to cry and I knew that would happen once I actually had to talk about it. I did ask my sister to tell my grandmother. My grandmother was in her 90’s and she and I had a special bond. She lived with our family from the time I was born; and although we battled quite a bit over those 20 some odd years, she and I loved each other very much. I just could not bring myself to tell her. We lost my father, grandma’s son, in 1999 and she was still reeling from that loss. Telling her I was sick would be very difficult for me and for her. Grandma already felt as though she had out lived everyone; I didn’t want her to even think that she would outlive one of her grandchildren.

A few days before my surgery, my high school girlfriends took me out to a comedy club to cheer me up. It worked, and we drank and laughed all night long. The day before surgery, I went to the nail salon and had a spa pedicure. I chose bright, neon pink polish with white hibiscus flowers on the big toes. I felt pretty and I felt ready.

The day of the surgery I proudly showed off my toes to the nurses and my surgeon, everyone loved them. In my usual flare, I was able to get others to smile which was more for me than they knew.

I don’t remember much after the procedure except the drains … oh, how I hated those drains. The doctor had removed a large amount of lymph nodes on my right side because she had found a few of them had been affected by the cancer as well. Not the best news.

Even worse than the drains, was trying to sleep in the hospital, I could hear the cries of some older patients on my floor throughout the night and it was so difficult to listen to. It made me feel grateful. Just grateful.

On the day I left the hospital, I actually called my mom to tell her how excited I was that I could wear a size medium top. Medium, me, the girl whose breasts were her biggest (and I mean biggest) asset. I was not sad that my breasts were gone, I was okay with it. I could live with this.

Treatments started immediately, chemotherapy for four months. It was hard on my body; I believe it aged me considerably. My skin, my joints, everything just felt and looked old. I wondered why anyone would want someone to come with them to endure the hours of sitting in the chemo room while I was hooked up to the machines giving me my poison. I didn’t want to share this experience with anyone; I didn’t want anyone to see me like this, or to break my thoughts during this time. It became my time to be alone with my thoughts. To realize that this isn’t that bad, and that yes, Susan, there is a light at the end of this tunnel. It’s called life; life with the people I love so dearly would continue.

I arranged my appointments for Thursday and Friday so that I would have Saturday and Sunday to recuperate. There were plenty of days when I would feel so terrible that I had no choice but to work from home on the following Monday and Tuesday. My boss had no problem with that and he encouraged me to take care of myself and not worry about my job.

About a month after starting chemo, one day, my hair just started coming out. Not when I brushed it in the morning, it was more when I touched it during the day at work, long strands would be intertwined in my fingers and then by the end of the day, clumps of hair were coming out in my hands. I decided that it was going to be my choice when all my hair would be gone. I got a beer, because I wanted this to be more like a party than a scalping. Bill got his razor and we sat down in front of the large mirror in our bathroom. I thought I was ready for this, I felt empowered. Boy was I wrong.

Everything seemed to be okay until I actually had to get back into society as a bald woman. Then (inside me) it all fell apart.

Losing my breasts was a big deal, but losing my hair made me feel as though I lost my identity, my femininity … it was HUGE.

The whole body image issue that women go through after a mastectomy varies greatly. I would imagine though that we all have had similar feelings of loss. A lot of husbands can’t handle the new “form” their wives take after such a drastic occurrence in their lives. I find that incredibly sad; I was very lucky.

Although Bill would tell me it didn’t matter to him, it mattered to me. I would not take my clothes off in front of him. I noticed every woman on the street and stared at her breasts. Not really mourning the loss for myself, although I did, I mourned more for Bill. Would he feel stuck with this body of mine? How could he not? He can’t find me sexy anymore. Sex was not something I was willing to give up at this point in my life. How humiliating. I couldn’t even look at myself, let alone FEEL sexy for the man I love. I won’t lie to you, I still have those feelings … not as often, but I still have them.

I don’t know how to get past the body that I see in the mirror compared to my old self. The new breasts don’t match; one is hard as a rock and high on my body, while the other sad one just sits there, deformed and misshapen. Bill would always remind me that I’m alive and that is what was important. Being a girl, and one who really took pride in her appearance, even that was difficult for me to understand. Alive but deformed, hmm.

The first day wearing a wig, I left the office to grab a bite to eat. It was a painful experience for me; I felt as though everyone in the sandwich shop was staring at me, pointing at me; they knew I was wearing a wig, I could feel it. I wanted to curl up and disappear. That night, I went to the wig shop where I had purchased my wig and cried. I asked them to do something to it so it didn’t look so fake, thin it out, trim it, something!

I did finally get to the point where I would wear a baseball cap at home and the wig when I had to be out in public. My family didn’t mind one bit and they are actually used to me without the wig.

It’s been years since then, I still wear wigs; only now, I have found wigs that look more natural, that suit me. Of course, maybe I am fooling myself and I have just become used to them and I don’t notice if anyone is staring anymore. Oh every once in a while, I catch someone staring at the part on my head. I think that is a dead giveaway with some of the synthetic wigs.

I was constantly being told how strong I was, how I was admired. Admired? For what, living through the treatments? It was too much to take in. After all, I am just Susan, the girl who laughed too loud, acted silly, embarrassed my kids and lived for going to rock concerts with my husband. Now, I’m being admired for surviving a physical whammy.

In 2010 I was diagnosed with Systemic Lupus, an auto immune disease. Some good, some bad; if nothing else, I have definitely learned to take things in stride. Why do I mention the Lupus? Well, this may be the reason my hair never grew back after the chemotherapy. We did not know I had it. Lupus can affect your hair, giving the person alopecia or baldness. Will it ever come back? I don’t really know. At this point, I just pulled up my big girl panties (yet again) and just resigned myself to the fact that I have to wait and see.

I never really understood why I was so calm, so positive throughout this process; I do know that having my husband’s love and support was definitely one of the reasons. However, there was something inside me, something I never knew existed. Strength.

I believe I inherited my strength from my mother; she is an amazing woman. I still have a long road ahead of me now that I have another Joker thrown my way in form of an auto immune disease; however, my outlook is pretty well cemented in stone at this point.

Life is amazing. It’s about who you surround yourself with; how you treat each other and how much the love you give and receive is actually your life’s blood. The house, the car, the nice clothes mean nothing. Truly. Nothing. Knowing this, really knowing it, helps me forge ahead and not worry about what might be.

I have learned to be grateful, and I thank God each and every night for the love that surrounds me.

Who is that bald girl in the mirror? Me, maybe you; but whoever she is, she is strong and loving and she is scared. She is a beautiful person and she will survive one way or another.

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