Nov 18
On November 18th, almost to the hour of when we first said, “I do,” we’ll say it again. In front of Elvis, in a little chapel on Las Vegas Boulevard. I’ll be wearing the dress I wore when we got married the first time. He’ll be wearing a Ralph Lauren Ultrasuede jacket that we found at Goodwill last week for $20.00.
I don’t have the “I’m in cancer treatment” look anymore. If you didn’t know me before I went through chemo, you wouldn’t know all that my body has endured. You wouldn’t know that I used to be in better shape or had shoulder length brown hair.
My hair is long enough to pass for NYC chic.
I am forever changed physically and emotionally. Maybe some of it’s for the better. I’m not ready to pass judgement on that part of it yet. But I know for sure that some of that change is not good. Not for me. Not for my kids. And definitely not for my husband.
Though I want to sprint to the cancer treatment finish line, to be done with this, and for my body to start healing, I don’t want these next few months to go by too quickly. Because I’ll never get them back. And I don’t want to let cancer steal them away from me.
When I was done I went back out to the bedroom and turned on my iPhone flashlight to check the condition of the sheets. Only a teensy weensy bit of shit had gotten onto my new West Elm sheets. I was relieved and figured I could lay a towel down over the spot and deal with it in the morning.
The intimacy between us that day was the same intimacy we had when I used to wash her little locks of hair when she was a baby. And hold her tighter than tight when she was scared. Pure intimate moments don’t come often between parents and teens.
I didn’t need cancer to change my life. To not sweat the small stuff. To value my relationships, my husband, my family.
I was already doing all of that.
I wanted to be that girl. Have that hair. Touch that dog’s lip. Go wherever it was that she was going because any where would be better than where I was going. I was going to mark myself with the first visible sign that I have cancer.
