Hairy Fodder and the Chin of Secrets

Hooter Hotline #16: "Hairy Fodder and The Chin of Secrets"
February 18, 2010
I can’t believe I just caught myself plucking stray eyebrow hairs! Less than two weeks from chemo, it seems like a moot point to be removing hair that will soon turn Kamikaze! I suppose there is some vanity in not wanting to look like the GEICO Caveman up to the first infusion, but it would have been interesting to see my maximal Neanderthal look just for curiosity’s sake. A deep inner-chick fear is to be stranded on an island or live as a primitive native without a pair of tweezers. I know how bad the outcome is after 8 days of rustic camping and upon returning home, I’ve been stunned by the random and rapid growth of facial hair. Good Heavens, if I had remained tweezerless another day, some one might have offered me gender reassignment surgery, STAT! I can’t imagine going a month on "Survivor" without some kind of follicular management. In fact, I was part of a three-way pact with two ICU nurses who mentored me right out of nursing school. At a quiet point in our swing shift, we would take extra measures to improve the hygiene and general appearance of unconscious ventilated patients. I won't mention the part about black heads the size of peas on men's backs, but I will admit to being a conspirator in debearding lovely Grandmas that just couldn't do it themselves. As we worked covertly on these ICU makeovers, we promised eachother the same treatment if we were ever in a hospital bed, chin up at eye level for all to see. Blondes simply can’t understand a brunette’s anxiety about this. As a perimenopausal woman, I hate to admit that what looks like acne on my chin is actually the eruption of old growth timber, the kind my husband shaves off every day. I’m getting older and have sprouted some grays on my head, but chin hairs, neon markers of my diminishing estrogen, never emerge in a discrete pale color. No, no, no, they are dark as licorice, which in contrast to my fair skin, allows them to impose maximum embarrassment and irritation. Yep, that’s just what a menopausal woman needs. Add to that leaky sneezes, exacerbated PMS symptoms, body parts yielding to gravity and a general "take less crap" attitude and you’ve got a real "life of the party" on your hands. There are days when I’d like to divorce myself. These realizations only make me feel more compassionate towards Rog for abiding with me. Usually, this gratitude makes me more forgiving when he snores or crunches corn chips with his mouth open. So, if you ever see me running my fingertips back and forth across my chin, I’m not working on my pose as "The Thinker," but I am desperately searching for slightest indication that a new piece of rebar is beginning to poke its head out. In fact, I think I’ll stop by the store and buy a pair of tweezers for my purse. The ones on my little pocket knife are worthless.
I believe with all my heart that man/woman was designed and created by God and not the result of multiple favorable mutations over millennia. I say that with a certainty in my osteoarthritic bones that silences the comparison of my eyebrow hair to Homo erectus. In my anatomy and physiology classes, this struck me very deeply. I was amazed by the back-up systems built into the electrical circuitry of the heart. If "A" failed, it would default to a rate set by "B." If "B" failed, the heart still had plan "C," which was just enough heart rate to buy time for a temporary pacemaker. Remember the "Kreb’s Cycle" and the "Clotting Cascade," my friends? Obviously God is a chemist with obsessive compulsive disorder…I guess perfection comes with being Holy. Let’s not forget microbiology…man, I loved that class. I grew some of the coolest stuff in auger, not just in Petri dishes, but in auger test-tubes too. A soil sample by my front door produced the most beautiful (in a full HAZMAT suit kind of way) inverted conical tree-shaped growth. Don’t even get me started on pathophysiology, pharmacology and chemistry. Have you ever thought about the atomic structure of our atmosphere and fact that we enjoy 21% oxygen where ever we go (unless you are free diver or a high altitude climber)? And honestly, how can one look into the night sky and not acknowledge that something bigger than a "mistake" or "luck" hung each planet in perfect position to maintain the necessary tension for proper temperature and tide regulating orbits? I’m not talking about just one planet, but our entire solar system as well as the universe. That’s just the physical world. Human intellect, emotion, intuition and spirituality also leave me in awe. At this point in my life, each of these has been highlighted and my awareness more acute. I can’t be sure, but I’m betting that most iguanas are not on a prayer chain. I haven’t heard of koala’s creating chemical compounds to fight disease. And the martin I saw at Three Creeks Lake, running through the forest with a plump ground squirrel in his mouth, never uttered the Johnny Appleseed prayer before supping. The love, affection and palpable prayer support I’ve received since November is mind-boggling and oh so divinely human. God made us as well as our attributes. Being connected to Him brings the greatest joy and peace. Being connected to others created by Him and who love Him is like 50 cherries and ten cans of whipped cream on the sundae. He promised in the Old Testament that if we seek Him, He will find us. Jesus said in the New Testament that He stands at the door of our heart and knocks. Doesn’t it blow your mind that Holiness, Divinity and Redemption seek us? They wait patiently too. Despite being omnipresent, omniscient and omnipotent, God does not force Himself on us. He badly wants to gather all His children into His Heavenly Father arms so that He can shower us with his love, peace, strength and forgiveness, but never would do so uninvited. Go ahead and take a minute to let your finite mind wrap around that.

Okay, enough theology for now, I have more "hairy" stories for you! With chemo just a "hair’s breath" away, I have a few "silver linings" to point out. First of all, I will be so grateful not to be growing underarm hair. Since the mastectomies, I have a weird type of numbness in the armpits radiating down the underside of my arms to about mid-deltoid. It gives me the heebie geebies to touch it. It is all I can do to rub the area with a soapy wash cloth in the shower. The thought of running a razor over it actually produces a cold shiver. What’s a girl to do? You’ve got to do something when you still smell "pitted out" after a shower. Originally, I told Rog that I was going to "go European" for a while, but eventually I couldn’t stand myself and I was forced to rake a razor over the offending area. I am proof that shutting your eyes as tight as you possibly can while holding your breath and clenching your teeth, provides just enough courage to accomplish necessary tasks. Granted, shaving with one’s eyes shut isn’t especially smart, but I got through it sans bloodletting. Fine, I did it, but if you think I’m going to push a solid antiperspirant stick around the area, you’ve got another thing coming. I know, I will go to the store and see if they still carry Ozone depleting aerosol deodorant. Safeway, save me! Okay, hygiene aisle, start at the top shelf and scan left to right. Now work your way down the shelves one by one. There’s enough deodorant here for an entire infantry unit. Aaaaaaah, it’s not looking good. Oh, please, please be here. Look, there it is, two glorious, 1970’s style cans on the bottom shelf! Thank you, manufacturers of SURE! You’ve made my day! And to be truthful, made the day of all those around me! I hope that none of you are ever in the position to be so delighted by a can of spray-on deodorant. It’s okay for you to resent that I won’t have to shave ANYTHING for at least four months, I can take it. In addition to that, I will be able to laude over you the fact that I get to experience a "Brazilian Wax" with out the pain of the wax! I don’t even have to be embarrassed to try it because it’s chemo dress code! OOOOOO, la la!

Last Saturday was the day for Locks of Love to harvest my "horse tail." My sister Gayle (a.k.a. The Laundry Fairy) and my adorable niece, Amelia, came along on the Beauty School adventure. Heather was my beautician and she gave me a wonderful cut. She was so thorough and methodical; I know she will be successful when she graduates. Much hubbub ensued when I asked to have the remaining hair dyed "Breast Cancer Pink" with light and dark pink highlights. Multiple instructors weighed in on possible color potions. A plan to create a "mistake on purpose" was the final consensus and the stinky process began. Three-and-a-half hours and four copies of PEOPLE Magazine later, I was reborn with what I have named the "Bing Cherry Bob!" Heather was very worried I might not like the result, but I reassured her that even if I didn’t like it, it was going to fall out in four to five weeks anyway! "You’re so easy going!" she said in total ignorance of my true nature. "I wanted something wild, wacky and fun," I explained, "and you’ve done it! Good job!" Before I left the beauty school, I handed Heather a letter I had written to the child receiving the wig made from my donation. Heather placed these thoughts and wishes in the bag of hair:

Dear "Locks of Love" Kid,
Today is a very big day for me and YOU are the reason!
I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.
Even though we have never met each other, we have some important things in common. Besides being two wonderful human beings, you and I have cancer. We both have hair loss because of the medicine we must take to get well. And I bet we both don’t want to look bald and goofy all the time either.
We are also very different. Right now I think the biggest difference is that you are a kid and I’m going to be 50 years old in May. Because I am so much older, I’ve had time to do some pretty cool things. Many of the coolest things I’ve done have happened while growing this hair for you. Years before I knew I had cancer, I decided I would grow my hair so that a terrific kid like you could have it some day. When my hair is hanging free, it goes all the way to my tailbone! Now, I’m giving it to you before my cancer can get it! Score one for us! Hey Cancer, you LOSE this round! Nah, nah, nah, nah, naaaaah, nah!
I’m sending you happy and adventurous hair. I hope it will encourage you and make you feel good. Your new hair loves to be outside in the fresh air. This hair loves hiking and climbed a mountain in 2003. This hair loves to grow vegetables in the garden. This hair loves animals and raises 15 alpacas (who also have great hair called fiber), 2 llamas, 3 furry, mouse-chasing cats and one bunny that looks like an Oreo cookie. This hair loves to have fun with family and friends and is especially happy when it is caught up in a big hug. This hair loves to laugh and make silly jokes. This hair loves God and knows that God loves the persons he gave it to, you and me. This hair is tough and brave like you are already. This hair loves to see beautiful places and recently went to seven National Parks in Southern Utah. This hair loves to explore the world and take photographs. While growing for you it’s been to Mexico, Puerto Rico, The Dominican Republic and Alaska (it’s Birth State). This hair loves to get smokey from sitting around a campfire. This hair loves to sing off key and be read to. This hair loves old movies. This hair loves the Pacific Ocean and recently caught a bunch of silver salmon. This hair loves to make chocolate chip pancakes for her kids and gourmet food for her husband.
Now, this hair loves you. I will be praying for a long happy life filled with things for you to discover and love. Stay strong my young friend. Use everything you have in your tough little body to fight, fight, fight. Life is so good and there is so much ahead of you to make you glad you fought so hard. Go put on your gorgeous hair, live boldly and always be a blessing to those around you. I will forever be connected to you in my heart and prayers.

All my love and best wishes for you and your family,
Jennifer Stafford
Oregon City, OR

Heather’s work on my hair has created quite a stir. Even the ladies at church on Sunday couldn’t stop touching it and staring in amazement. One even asked me where I got my wig! They never expected to see me in short hair let alone a zany color like this. The fun continued on Tuesday, my first day back to work. The Bing Cherry Bob was a great distraction from my hooterless chest. I’d rather talk about donating to Locks of Love than talk about buying an abdominal binder to help compress the sweet potato-sized fluid collection under my left incision and subsequent attempts to aspirate it. More smiles than usual spread on faces wherever I went, myself included. Mission accomplished, Heather!

Besides countless smiles and shocked recognitions, Tuesday was a hug fest. The right shoulder of my black blouse bore the cosmetic evidence of many embraces. Several huggers in succession noticed it, tried to brush it off and then left their own traces of kindness. I work with an incredibly giving and loving staff at LMPMC. Twenty years in the same "work family" yields many different types of relationships. When disease enters the picture, these relationships can change. Casual relationships can develop quickly into intimate ones. Strained relationships suddenly develop memory loss of the strain’s origin. New relationships blossom as people relate their own experiences or concerns for loved ones with disease. I have not been blind to the fact that some of the people who’ve been so kind to me are people I’ve "pissed off" in the past. Differences of opinion and terse words (arguments) however, are often trumped by disease. I’d like to blame committee work of any kind for being problematic, but I know that I can be, have been and likely will be, hard to work with at times. Lingering angst evaporates when, in compassion, my counterpart approaches me, looking me in the eye as her own eyes begin to well. She wraps her arms around me and whispers in my ear, "Oh, I’m so sorry you have to go through this. My sister had breast cancer too." The mutual squeeze that follows indicates that we’ve just arrived on a new, higher plane of existence. What a beautiful mingling of things divine and human when we give the best of ourselves to each other.
I still chuckle when I remember the first time Alice saw me once the breast cancer diagnosis was public info. We have always been polar opposites when it comes to politics and religion. Still, I liked to be playful with her about the issues, elections and society in general. She would be playful in return, but I knew that behind it, she probably thought I was conservative beyond hope and would not be her first choice as a companion on a deserted island. So, it sort of jolted me when I stepped out of the staff lounge into the hallway one day as she was headed to CT scan with an ICU patient. Our eyes met, I started to say, "Hi!" but never got it out because, at the sight of me, she dropped her head and started shaking it slowly, side to side. In a mournful tone she said, "Ah, Jeeeeeeeeezus, Jennifer. I’m sorry." She really meant it. It didn’t matter who we’d voted for in the presidential election. It didn’t matter that I did not believe global warming was caused primarily by humans. Her genuine concern for me was not discounted by differing beliefs of any kind. I was truly touched by her expression of concern and it will always ring in my ears.
On the other hand, one of the CNAs, upon seeing me under the same circumstances of new info, ran up to me, threw her arms around me and with a huge bear hug that squeezed all the breath out of me, exuberantly exclaimed, "Oh, I just wanted you to know that I love you and you’re one of my favorite people I’ve ever worked with!" "You’re so sweet," I said regaining my breath and balance, "but I’m not dead yet!"
These are the people I work with. They are also the people that decorated my office with a handmade and signed "Welcome Back" poster that served as a backdrop for a large basket filled with flowers and pink breast cancer gear. The thoughtful organizers even straightened my perpetually messy desk and provided a cute dish for the many paperclips that were swimming around my keyboard. Even my echo cardiographer from Friday’s test, Michaella, delivered a beautiful ID badge lanyard she’d made. These folks have brought meals and lightened spirits when they ventured out "in the sticks" for a visit. In an especially generous expression of their care and concern, they pitched in on housekeeping services for me. Five sessions of four hours each have been a tremendous help and an extremely valuable gift. I have never had a housekeeper before, but I have suddenly forgotten any reasons I ever had against it! It doesn’t stop there either. Rog came home from work one day with a gallon Ziploc bag full of savory spaghetti sauce chock full of Italian sausage, a box of noodles and prepared garlic bread. Janice, the wife of his buddy at work had done this out of the blue. And how about my neighbor, Joanie, doing all our farm chores for over a week after the big surgery? She has her own menagerie to care for, but doing double duty for some one else’s sake is just her way. My cup of gratitude is spilling over as if a faucet is turned on full blast. The sum of these actions has both flattened me in humility and raised me up to heights worth experiencing cancer for. I am not kidding. The view from where I sit is kind of like Christmas. For crying out loud, we squeeze an entire tree into our homes. If that didn’t crowd things enough, we unpack myriads of holiday decorations which, when still in boxes, fill a guest bedroom. Yet when we look around the house during the month of December, we don’t see clutter. All we see are the pretty decorations and the twinkling lights. You are my twinkling lights and my favorite ornaments. You are the nativity snow globe I adore. You are the Hershey Kiss Advent calendar my kids made years ago. That’s what I see in the midst of my surgeries and will see during chemo. My eyes are not focused on the clutter of cancer. How could they be? You haven’t given them a chance.