My Hair... My Identity?

Today I am finally even - in the boob department, that is. Let me explain: I got my prosthetic boob today, complete with two new bras! I love my fake boob. It's heavy, like a boob should be heavy. It's squishy, like a boob should be squishy. And in the mirror I look even, like having two boobs should look. (Insert requisite *sigh* here.)

So I feel good. I've got my fake boob. I'm regaining my range of motion for my right arm with the help of my physical therapist. I feel energetic, upbeat, and ready to tackle the next phase of my treatment: chemo. So why then am I so anxious about one side-effect? Why is the prospect of my hair falling out so upsetting to me? Mind you, I have taken steps to prepare for this. I took the bull by the horns and cut my hair short about two weeks ago. I bought my very realistic, very expensive wig (even wore it to the office a couple of times this past week just to get used to it). I've even got girlfriends throwing me a hat and scarf party at the end of the month (ironically, on the day my hair is supposed to start falling out according to my doctor). And yet, here I am, deep down; honest to God truth; lay it out there for all of you to see - really dreading hair loss.

At the heart of it all is the understanding that for the longest time my hair has been a big part of my outward identity. I love my hair. I love taking care of it. I love having it styled, cut, coiffed, you name it, I love it. But that's a very small part of my identity. And yet, it's a part that a lot of people see. People who know me, and those who don't. Am I bothered by the fact that people who don't know me and who'll see the bald head will know I'm battling cancer? Why should I be bothered? It's a mark of a warrior in a worthwhile battle. Am I bothered because I don't want to see pity in other people's eyes? But what is wrong with pity? When I feel sorry for someone my heart goes out to them. I don't look down on them. I fervently wish that they didn't have to go through whatever it is they are going through. I feel for them. So am I bothered, as a fellow survivor put it, because I will finally look the way a breast cancer patient looks? Maybe that's it. I have overcome some of the most emotional aspects of being diagnosed with breast cancer by mentally battling this disease. I have learned that ninety percent of this battle is in my head. I have looked myself in the mirror many times and had many honest conversations - but always the person who looked back at me never looked like she had breast cancer.

The truth comes out: I do not want to look like I have breast cancer. And I don't. Instead, I look like I am battling cancer so that it can never have a chance to come back. I am fighting. So, standing in front of that mirror again, I say to myself these words: My hair is not who I am. It is not the core of me. I am happy and hopeful. I am caring and loving. I am optimistic and positive. I am resilient and strong. I am a fighter. I am all these things; these things are my identity... with or without my hair.