To be honest, I am having a bad hair life. I’ve always had a love/hate relationship with my hair. There was the time I missed the bus because I refused to go to school until my pigtails were exactly even. In high school, I cut off all of my hair so I could be cool and have it short and spiky. I then spent the next several years growing it out so I could be cool and have it long and sexy. Certainly none of my friends will forget the perm of 1994.
I just sent my husband off to Machu Picchu without me. We were both invited on a trip to Peru and I declined, but as I’m sitting here alone in my house, I’m reflecting on one thing that I said to him yesterday before he left: “I think it will be freeing for you not to have to worry about me for 10 days.” Not that he won’t think about me - because he will - it’s just that since my breast cancer diagnosis five years ago, he’s had to be acutely aware of my physical and mental well-being every single day.
Pink is the New Black - What is the color of breast cancer?
I Think I Hate Pinktober was the title of a blog post I wrote 3 years ago. I went back to look at it recently to see if my feelings had changed. After all, I've changed a lot in three years. I'm a six year survivor, my kids have left the nest, and I'm a published author. I've had the opportunity and privilege to speak with many women about their experiences with breast cancer, and also to participate in some breast cancer awareness events this month. As I open my suitcase on the last leg of my trip, I'm struck by two things. 1. I didn't wear half the things I brought with me - what did I think I was doing, anyway? 2. Boy, there's a lot of pink in there.