Sometimes you just have to not take yourself seriously.
I have been thinking about my adolescent years and how every now and then I hit an awkward phase.
That’s me again, now. But at 51. And maybe “awkward” is just that necessary step on the path back to normal, good, or great.
My hair is growing out after chemo. It’s just longer than my ears on the side but won’t stay tucked. And there’s a giant middle section that is shockingly white. Like, Cruella Deville white. And I can only keep it back with headbands or tiny barrettes, like a stylish toddler.
My face is partially paralyzed from Bells Palsy. I look like The Joker when I laugh. And I have to wear a protective single goggle when I’m in the wind/outdoors. But at least now at week 10 I can function normally again with eating, speaking, and drinking. There was a very funny stage around week 4 when I was used to the Bell’s Palsy but still struggling to pronounce certain letters. My family was driving to Palm Springs and singing to a great playlist. Free Fallin’ by Tom Petty came on- and F’s were the hardest letter to say!- so we all belted it out, sans F’s.
And I still have a port in my chest. I joke that I’m part Cyborg. (The port stays until I finish my final Herceptin infusion in October). I honestly don’t even think about it anymore but remember a time that this felt devastating to have in my chest. But this port has make it possible to get chemo and labs whenever needed without decimating my veins/arm.
Maybe after you accept the Awkward, it’s not so bad. Because it’s also Progress.
Awkward = Progress. Short white hair, half-wrinkled forehead, and protective eye goggle. But I’m out for a long walk, not even 2 weeks after surgery, and I can at least give a smirk. Woot woot!