"How are you?" The question I'm asked over and over again, each and every day. I don't mind answering how I'm feeling, it's a completely normal thing to ask, but let me explain what better or okay actually means.
Better can mean so many different things. This past week I went from a 10 to an 8. Yeah, I feel better, but far from the better most associate with the word better.
We spend so much time sometimes trying to explain how we are feeling when, to be honest, its no easy task. Am I ever okay? No, I have cancer. But I am okay because when I'm feeling up to it I choose to be OKAY. Man is this hard to explain.
This is where positivity and determination tend to get mushed into one meaning. Am I the super positive wonder woman? Or am I a 6 on the scale and I just want to make the most of it because someday I'll be a 10 again.
I was dreading Tuesday because I thought that I might be developing a reaction to my chemo, but Monday came and so did the pain. We don't know why or what's going on with me, but cancer, health, and life is hard to have all the answers for. Monday I felt the tightness in my liver, hours later the spasms crept in and by Monday afternoon I was stuck in bed afraid to move. Tuesday was supposed to be chemo day but it turned into 'how can we try to help Larissa's pain level get to be a 9 a least?' By Wednesday the pain medication was finally kicking in and I could say I was finally an 8 and ready for chemo but my nausea spiked. Usually you hear of people throwing up from chemo but I was throwing up right up until chemo. Thursday I sat on the couch on my computer all day unsure what to do other than get caught up on computer stuff. I felt ironically better. What's better? 7.
Life with cancer is no walk in the park and describing it is a very challenging word hunt! Part of cancer is being sick, so being under the weather shouldn't surprise anyone. But how do we really feel? Well, better technically, but still in bed.
When I look in the mirror I see many scars.
My chest is striped with two large scars. Two scars that remind me each day that pain is temporary.
I look at my arms and see needle prick scars from all the IVs and blood draws.
I see my port scar, a bulging lump that marks where my chemotherapy is administered. Oh my dear heart.
I see my short, dark hair as a scar, since it isn't the hair I began my journey with.
I look down at my feet to remind myself that they are still there.
My teeth ache as I wait for the opportunity for my blood counts to approve so I can see a dentist.
I see my 60-pounds-lighter body, which is bittersweet.
I see my slightly pronounced right collarbone, which fractured in my sleep.
I feel my hip, which hurts every time it rains.
I view in the mirror my complexion, my chemo-aged skin and wrinkles.
I now have freckles ... which I never asked for.
And last, my biggest scar of all -- which is invisible to everyone but me. My infertile womb, the reality of which I struggle with each and every day.
My scars remind me that whatever comes next, it might not be as bad as what I have dealt with. But if it is worse, that pain can truly be temporary.
Woman battling all stages of breast cancer loose a piece of their identity. Even though we may smile publicly, when we are alone with the mirror, it can take a few seconds to remember that is YOU staring back through the mirror. Sometimes you need the opportunity to see a different you, but a you your proud of now. Adjusting to the new you can be a challenge itself and for me a boost of confidence was exactly what I needed.
The Fab-U-Wish program was developed by Guliana Rancic to help make women like me feel beautiful again. Before cancer I NEVER wore makeup. People I leaned on told me I never needed it and I loved never wearing it.
I don't think I'm ugly now, but I do appreciate the opportunity to have someone doll me up like a princess. Sometimes that dose of confidence can turn what may be borderline depression into a day of depression relief. You can bet that when I'm down I ask someone to help me grow and shine.