As I woke up this morning and swung the large tree trunks still attached to me to the floor, I scooted across to the bathroom for my daily pharmaceutical snack. Amongst the variety of pills and pain buffers, the Letrozole, Fragmin, and Zolodex are really spiking this week and I feel more and more geriatric. So much so, when I walk, I have to so on my heels to get across the room!
I stumble in the bathroom, brush my teeth, I turn on the faucet to start the process of slicking my new ‘Do’ down. “Urgh this hair! What am I going to do with it?” I pouted. Out of the corner of my eye, I soon realise Carsen, my middle child, has snuck in to watch the process. My hair is short, thick, dark and sticks straight up – no joke.
“Carsen, what is Mummy going to do with this mess on her head?” I asked, wholly expecting some sort of silly retort about me dying it green with coloured speckles, you know something resembling a cupcake. Instead she says “Why did you take cancer treatment, Mummy?”
Oh Lord, here we go. As I am staring at myself in the mirror, I say “Because I wanted to save my life from the cancer. If I didn’t take the medicine, the cancer would have grown and I would have died.”
Funny how the mirror looks back at you and just like that – SNAP – puts persepctive back in its place. I soon realised how small my ‘Do’ disaster was. “Good morning, Carsen!” I said as we walked out towards the kitchen. I kissed her and asked her then what the Chef was cooking for breakfast.