Teeth & Hair That Just Aren't There (Yet): A Lesson In Waiting

My daughter and I share many traits: we're built alike (okay, I'm taller), we have similar coloring, and we have the same smile. (We even have matching skirts. Thanks, Mom!) We both like animals and laughing and reading.

Lately, we've shared something else: impatience. But let's put a positive spin on it by calling it "eager anticipation".

Here are our similar situations:

My daughter is eagerly anticipating the loss of a baby tooth.
It's an important rite of passage among 6-year-olds, a sign you are growing up.
She has a barely-loose tooth.
She wiggles it several times a day.
Sometimes she asks me to check if it's any looser than it was yesterday.
Sometimes she wiggles it hard, hoping to loosen it manually.

I am eagerly anticipating the regrowth of my hair.
It's an important sign of healing, visual proof of restored health after chemotherapy.
My head is still sparsely covered with stubble that I never managed to completely shave during the trauma of my initial hair loss.
I check my head several times a day for evidence of new growth.
Sometimes I ask my husband to check if there's any new hair there that I just can't see myself.
Sometimes I even pull a stubbly piece hard, hoping to encourage its growth manually.

(I know, I know. It all sounds cute in a 6-year-old but obsessive in a grown-up.)

In both our cases, the process can't be rushed, no matter how badly we want it. We need to wait for the natural course to run. (Groan!) But, in both our cases, we have every reason to expect our desired outcome. I assure her that everyone loses their baby teeth eventually. It will happen.
I assure myself the same way. I only need to be patient. It really will happen.

But I know the truth: it probably really will happen. Teeth and hair are not sure things. My daughter's dentist and my oncologist want us to assume these eagerly anticipated events will happen because they are the expected outcomes. But anyone who has taken Biology 101 is aware that, when it comes to living creatures, there's an exception to almost every rule.

• For example, you learn that mammals, by definition, give birth to live young... and then you learn that the platypus is an egg-laying mammal. 
• The human heart is on the left side of the body... except in the 1/10,000 of the population who have situs inversus (mirror image arrangement of the internal organs). 

Likewise, if you prodded our dentist, he would probably slap you with a lawsuit for assault and battery but -- more to my point -- he would probably admit that, in rare instances, a person never loses their baby teeth. (Don't tell the 6-year-olds!) You know where this is going: I'm only one ill-advised google search away confirming my fear that some people never get their hair back after chemotherapy.

Even if there were a 99.5% chance that I will get my hair back, that wouldn't be not enough to completely reassure me. There would still that niggling little fear in the back of my mind, shaking its head tragically and whispering that I might be among those unfortunate 0.5%.  After all, I've beaten the odds (that is, been beaten by the odds) before: the risk of developing breast cancer at my age a mere 0.43%.

Isn't it funny that 99.5% assurance still wouldn't be enough? That we can feel overwhelmed by doubt and fear even when the odds are in our favor? It's sadly human to worry about the exceptions and rarities.

It reminds me, though, of what I can and should know with 100% certainty (Here it comes! If you've read this blog long enough, you know a spiritual lesson is about to be delivered...). I know with 100% certainty that God cares for me and will provide for me now and eternally.

Jesus' own words in Matthew 10:29-31,  

"Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows."

These days I just love the imagery of God knowing how many hairs are on my head. I may not see them, but He sees those microscopic hairs forming (or not forming?!) deep in my follicles. I imagine Him smiling every time another one breaks the surface, knowing how pleased I'll be when I finally see a nice crop sprouting. Hairy or not, I can have 100% confidence of God's care for me, even though I can't see how He will provide for me or when He will provide or what He will provide. I can't even see God! So where does this assurance come from? It's called faith, and it's a gift rather than something you need to conjure on your own.

Hebrews 11:1, Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.

Faith is confidence in what we hope for. And don't diss hope! Christian hope isn't just wispy wistfulness, like hoping you'll get a pony for Christmas or hoping it won't rain on Saturday. It's absolute 100% confidence. After all, these promises were made by God. And, if you can't believe God's promises, what can you believe? Seriously. Every creature and concept and chemical in this universe is temporal and finite, therefore, not 100% eternally reliable. Your body, the person you love most, the pursuit of happiness, Social Security, the United Nations, the ozone layer, our sun, nitrogen atoms -- they ultimately all fail. But God? He is, was, and always will be. And His love for us is, was, and always will be!

Psalm 117:2, For great is His love toward us, and the faithfulness of the LORD endures forever.

I John 3:1, See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!

 100% assurance. It's better than hair.




P.S. Here are a few more irrational hair fears so you can laugh with me:

• Irrational fear #37: As infants, my children wore off sizable swathes of their fine baby hair by constantly turning their heads from side to side while lying on their backs. Of course, I think about this as I toss and turn at night, forced to sleep on my back while recovering from reconstructive surgery.
• Irrational fear #64: While inspecting my stubbly leftover hairs, I notice that mainly gray ones survived the chemo (tenacious little fiends!). Will natural selection (survival of the fittest) play out on my scalp, leaving me prematurely gray? Or could the gray stubble have such a strong head start that they will choke out regular hairs, like weeds in a vegetable garden? Does worrying about gray hairs cause gray hair?

Reconstruction and Tamoxifen-Induced Super Powers

Over the next few days as I recover from the reconstructive surgery, I won't be able to drive or lift more than 5 lbs. I also can't raise my arms over my head, which has caused a few funny situations. Case in point: I was literally trapped in a sports bra this morning after my walk. A sports bra, of all things! It may as well have been a straightjacket for all my helpless struggling. Can you imagine the phone conversation if I had needed to call 911?

Despite some pain and inconvenience, it's a relief to have another big step behind me. Next week begins yet another big step: a 5-year stint of tamoxifen. The good news is that tamoxifen is formulated as a pill to be taken daily. Hooray for no more needles! More good news is that tamoxifen has been prescribed for decades, so its benefits and side effects are well-known. The benefits far outweigh the side effects in most patients. The not-so-good news is that this anti-estrogen drug is associated with several rare but potentially serious side effects (higher risk of uterine cancer, blood clots, and cataracts) and -- sigh -- causes menopause-like symptoms in most women.

Yes, menopause. So I'm going to be ushered a decade early into the womanly joys of hot flashes, among other physiological phenomena associated with estrogen loss.

Hot flashes. Let's think about this. The name sounds exciting. Hot flashes! Doesn't it sound like a powerful natural phenomenon, like dry lightning? Or a razzle-dazzle chemical reaction, like the explosive flash bulbs used in the 1930s by newspapermen photographing fabulous movie stars on the red carpet?


Actually, "hot flash" sounds to me like a nifty super power for middle-aged Wonder Woman. It would make a great addition to her line-up of superhuman abilities and amazing tools, like tremendous strength, ability to communicate with animals, invisible jet, Projectile Bracelets, and the Lasso of Truth. These are no match for ice-wielding super-villains like Mr. Freeze (pictured below).
But one hot flash (ZAP!), and he's thawed for good.


[Here's an illustration of Wonder Woman. Perhaps the sparkles represent a hot flash she is mustering to thaw the dastardly deeds of some arch-enemy? 
Hmm, Wonder Woman also appears to have undergone some reconstruction of her own, though her plastic surgeon had more, um, grandiose aspirations than mine. Or does the gold lamé bustiere have some superpowers of its own?] 

Meanwhile, back to our story...

 Mr. Freeze: Your powers are no match for me, Wonder Woman! My cold gun will freeze the entire city once and for all. Bwa-ha-ha!

Wonder Woman: [coolly] You underestimate me, Mr. Freeze. You haven't yet witnessed the power of my... Hot Flash!

[ZAP!]

Mr. Freeze: I'm melting! NOOooooo.... [voice fades away as he evaporates into a fine mist]

Wonder Woman: [muttering to herself as she wipes her forehead on a Projectile Bracelet] Man, it's hot in here. If only I were wearing more clothing. Then I'd have something to take off until this hot flash passes. 

See what I mean? Now that's the kind of hero a girl needs when she's stuck in a sports bra.
Hey, maybe middle-aged Wonder Woman could also fight evil with some other "tools" in her menopausal arsenal, like mood swings and irritability:

Mr. Freeze: Your powers are no match for me, Wonder Woman! My cold gun will freeze the entire city once and for all. Bwa-ha-ha!

Wonder Woman: [pulling off her Projectile Bracelets and throwing them down in irritation] That does it. I can't stand this any longer. I'm retiring my Bracelets and getting on with my life. [sobbing] Why do I put up with you bozos? You've totally ruined my life. All I ever wanted was to lead a marching band in my smart little sparkly leotard and boots, and now I'm too old to be picked as a drum majorette. It's so unfair! [pauses, then laughs] Actually, Mr. Freeze, would you mind freezing the city, just a teeny bit? This little number would make a great figure-skating costume!

Mr. Freeze: [confusedly scratching the helmet of his cryogenic suit with his cryogenic glove] I don't know what you are up to, Wonder Woman, but I'm not falling for it. I'm getting out of here before I fall into whatever emotional trap you appear to be laying for me.

And there you have it: hot flashes as a secret super power. Now I can hardly wait!

Under Reconstruction

My reconstructive surgery took place this past Monday. All went well. The surgery was short, and the bulkiest of the bandages came off today. Recovery is well underway, thanks to pain meds and lots of assistance from my husband, my sister visiting from NYC, and friends Genna and Carolyn. It worked out beautifully that my sister and her daughter could visit and that their visit coincided with Vacation Bible School, which is 9am to 5pm at our church. With the surgery at the beginning of the week, I've had lots of recovery time and my sister has had lots of work time, while our kids are happily occupied during the day and worn out at night.

It's interesting to realize that, after 40 years of good health, I've had three surgeries in seven months. This time, I knew what to expect and had little fear, which is remarkable when I remember my dread before the other two surgeries. Third time's a charm? Or we could attribute my lack of dread to my now vast experience in the surgical ward and to the more positive nature of this procedure: reconstruction rather than deconstruction. Either way, I'm just glad to be one step farther along on the road to recovery.
 

What a Trip!

Here's a picture of me (and my wig!) on vacation in Grand Teton National Park last month. Now if that inappropriately-named mountain range isn't an appropriate photo opp location for a breast cancer survivor, I don't know what is! (If you don't know what I'm talking about, do a quick internet search on the Tetons to learn how they were named.)

Our trip to Mexico in February and our trip to Wyoming in June were perfect bookends to the most difficult part of my treatment: the surgery and chemotherapy. That "bookending" was an unexpected blessing, since we planned both vacations before my diagnosis. The sunny, beachy Mexico trip helped our family relax between diagnosis and treatment. It was a much needed break from all the difficult decisions and endless doctor appointments. The Wyoming trip was much more than something to anticipate on bad chemo days. It helped put the worst behind us with a new location, a little adventure, and a chance to try out my returning energy on the hiking trails.

This winter, the mountains around Jackson Hole, Wyoming (which includes the Tetons), had a record snowfall: more than 700 inches. Can you imagine? That's more than 58 feet of snow! During our visit, there was still plenty of snow. This made some of the hikes challenging but had advantages too. I think we saw more animals, including newborn baby animals, than most people see during park visits. Perhaps more animals came down to feed in the Jackson Hole valley, since the higher elevations are still under many feet of snow, while the valley was uncharacteristically lush and green. The rivers, lakes, and mountain waterfalls were also filled to capacity from the melting snow, which added to their beauty.

I mention this because I can relate to the lavish springtime experienced by the valley this year. I feel as if I've been through a harsh winter and am now ready for a massive spring thaw and a new lease on life. (Hey, it's a cheap and cheesy analogy, but it works!) I am blessed with a chance to go on with my life, unlike many other cancer patients before me. As I've written previously, this experience has given me a renewed appreciation for normal, everyday life and its gentle pleasures and comforts. So I won't just go on with life; I'll cherish it. In some respects, this is also a new beginning, because I am changed. Some physical changes were deleterious, but I also emerge emotionally and spiritually stronger. I have passed through a challenge I could not have imagined enduring.

A valley is also an ideal place to admire the grandeur of mountains. As we hiked and drove through Jackson Hole, our eyes were drawn to the beauty and majesty of the Tetons. I lifted up my eyes to these hills and remembered where my help comes from (Psalm 121.) It was a reminder that I did not endure this cancer experience on my own, even for one moment over the past eight months. Rather, this experience has given me certain proof of the power and presence of my source of refuge and strength (Psalm 46). I know exactly where to turn when I feel scared or powerless.

How about you?