To post my noseless face or not to post, that is the question.
Paul and I spent last weekend up in Portland with bro and sis-in-law, Joe and Liz. We spent much of the rainy weekend relaxing around the house, and our hosts were gracious enough to make me feel extraordinarily comfortable hangin' without a nose.
But herein lies the rub ... there were moments when we might have snapped photos of the four of us to commemorate our time together and share with family members and friends. But who wants to see a cute family photo that includes someone with a big honking hole in their face? Why, it's just not done!
Well, maybe it should be.
I have often longed to share impromptu pics of me and animals around the house, but have stopped myself for that same reason. The temporary solution was to cover the hole with my fingers, but when I see those pictures, it just looks weird and sad to have my hand in front of my face.
So, here's the deal. No more hiding. If you are my friend on Facebook, a follower on Twitter, a reader of this blog, then you already know my story, plain and simple. I will do my squeamish friends the courtesy of posting a warning on Facebook. If they want to unfriend me or "hide" me, they can. But I will not hide me. Not any more. I won't go out of my way to be provocative and post just to shock people. But if I have a glorious moment I want captured in a photo (like when both cats and the dog all climbed into my lap at the same time), and I happen not to have a nose on at that moment, well, that's okay.
After all, does it serve anyone to hide who we really are? The world is filled with people who are disfigured in some way or another. What's wrong with just accepting people with their flaws? Of course, first we have to accept ourselves before we can ask others to do the same.
I often boast that if I didn't "have to" wear my prosthetic nose out in public, I wouldn't. Yet, there are moments I get very self-conscious being around people without my nose. But it's usually only just the first few minutes with someone who's never seen me like that before. Then we all get used to it and it's no big deal. Exposure Therapy is a real thing to help people get over phobias. Isn't that what I'm proposing here?
Just imagine, all you "normal" people out there: If it was acceptable to walk around with holes in your face, or horrible scars or whatever ... how much less anxiety would you have over a stupid zit!
I have nothing against enhancing ourselves and striving for beauty. I wear make-up, I pay the big bucks for good highlights and haircuts. But for the flaws we cannot change, isn't acceptance the best answer?
Is this a controversial stance? I honestly don't know and would welcome comments/discussion on the subject right here on the blog site.
In the meantime, I offer up the apropos words sung by Mimi and Joanne in Rent, "Take me for what I am, who I was meant to be. And if you give a damn, take me Baby ... or leave me ... "
Sunday, March 23, 2014
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
Ways Melanoma Has Changed Me #73
Once upon a time I was all about the outdoors. Staying inside on a beautiful Sunday seemed like a sin, a crime against nature. Hike a trail, lay on the beach - it wasn't about exercise or being active. It was simply about being outdoors.
Because back then, BC (before cancer), being outdoors was no big deal. You needed only to put some clothes on - sometimes not even very much - then open the door and step outside. So easy, so simple, it's painful to remember what an entirely thoughtless process it was.
Now I am in what I call my "vampire days." The sun that I once so loved is my enemy. And it's not even just my enemy, it's the enemy of my prosthetic nose. Besides the threat of melanoma recurring, I've been warned that sunlight will damage the delicate paint job on my silicone prosthetic, the very paint job the prosthedontist labored over so meticulously to match to my skin tone as closely as possible.
And somehow, not being BFF's with the sun anymore kind of takes the fun out of being outside. I don't just need minimal clothes anymore. Now I need to slather sunscreen on every possible piece of exposed flesh. And I don't just have to just put it on once - no, I have to carry it with me to reapply when it's worn off.
Oh, and then there's the hat thing. I must always wear a hat with a large brim. That's actually more for my prosthetic nose than for me. You can't put sunscreen on a prosthesis. Sure hats can be fun and I've kind of enjoyed becoming a "hat girl." But when something is a "requirement," all the joy gets sucked right out of it.
And, oh yeah, the real kicker: If I go out, I have to put on a nose. It's a simple enough matter. I just click it on and go (and I'm so lucky it's that easy). But it's like wearing a bra on your face. You know you need it, it's not painful, but you always feel it, you always know it's there and you can't wait to get home and take it off.
I find myself happily indoors much more than ever before. And I don't like it. The indoors is stuffy and you are surrounded by things you should be doing - like housework or writing. Dirty dishes and a computer are masters in the art of silent taunting.
The outdoors used to refresh me, renew me, make my spirit soar and feel connected to the universe. Nothing indoors can do that in quite the same way.
So what's a girl to do?
Answer: Get a dog.
No, I'm not kidding. And I didn't realize until this very moment that this piece was going to be about the dog. But I guess it just is.
I may not be driving to the ocean or hiking trails up in the hills, but outside is outside. Fresh air, sunshine, beautiful sky is all around us. And even though I may not get more than a mile or so from home, walking the dog has brought me enormous pleasure.
My Aitchy, of course, is primarily responsible for Cally. If it's cold or raining or late at night, it's his "job" to take the dog out (just as it's mine to clean the litter boxes for the cats). But as daylight sticks around longer and longer and the days are warmer and warmer, I try to join them for at least one walk a day.
And I realized yesterday, when the three of us went beyond our usual walk to let Cally romp at the park, that she may not have an official tag or vest, but she truly is a "therapy dog."
I don't want to be a vampire. But the reality is that being outdoors will never again be simple. And just when I'm feeling too lazy to bother, those big brown dog eyes remind me that it will be worth the trouble.
Once upon a time I was all about the outdoors. Staying inside on a beautiful Sunday seemed like a sin, a crime against nature. Hike a trail, lay on the beach - it wasn't about exercise or being active. It was simply about being outdoors.
Because back then, BC (before cancer), being outdoors was no big deal. You needed only to put some clothes on - sometimes not even very much - then open the door and step outside. So easy, so simple, it's painful to remember what an entirely thoughtless process it was.
Now I am in what I call my "vampire days." The sun that I once so loved is my enemy. And it's not even just my enemy, it's the enemy of my prosthetic nose. Besides the threat of melanoma recurring, I've been warned that sunlight will damage the delicate paint job on my silicone prosthetic, the very paint job the prosthedontist labored over so meticulously to match to my skin tone as closely as possible.
And somehow, not being BFF's with the sun anymore kind of takes the fun out of being outside. I don't just need minimal clothes anymore. Now I need to slather sunscreen on every possible piece of exposed flesh. And I don't just have to just put it on once - no, I have to carry it with me to reapply when it's worn off.
Oh, and then there's the hat thing. I must always wear a hat with a large brim. That's actually more for my prosthetic nose than for me. You can't put sunscreen on a prosthesis. Sure hats can be fun and I've kind of enjoyed becoming a "hat girl." But when something is a "requirement," all the joy gets sucked right out of it.
And, oh yeah, the real kicker: If I go out, I have to put on a nose. It's a simple enough matter. I just click it on and go (and I'm so lucky it's that easy). But it's like wearing a bra on your face. You know you need it, it's not painful, but you always feel it, you always know it's there and you can't wait to get home and take it off.
I find myself happily indoors much more than ever before. And I don't like it. The indoors is stuffy and you are surrounded by things you should be doing - like housework or writing. Dirty dishes and a computer are masters in the art of silent taunting.
The outdoors used to refresh me, renew me, make my spirit soar and feel connected to the universe. Nothing indoors can do that in quite the same way.
So what's a girl to do?
Answer: Get a dog.
No, I'm not kidding. And I didn't realize until this very moment that this piece was going to be about the dog. But I guess it just is.
I may not be driving to the ocean or hiking trails up in the hills, but outside is outside. Fresh air, sunshine, beautiful sky is all around us. And even though I may not get more than a mile or so from home, walking the dog has brought me enormous pleasure.
My Aitchy, of course, is primarily responsible for Cally. If it's cold or raining or late at night, it's his "job" to take the dog out (just as it's mine to clean the litter boxes for the cats). But as daylight sticks around longer and longer and the days are warmer and warmer, I try to join them for at least one walk a day.
And I realized yesterday, when the three of us went beyond our usual walk to let Cally romp at the park, that she may not have an official tag or vest, but she truly is a "therapy dog."
I don't want to be a vampire. But the reality is that being outdoors will never again be simple. And just when I'm feeling too lazy to bother, those big brown dog eyes remind me that it will be worth the trouble.
Sunday, March 9, 2014
The time has finally come for me to start sharing my story. For almost three years, people have been telling me I have to write a book about the adventures of losing my nose to melanoma.
I have thought long and hard about starting. And every time I do, I just don't feel ready. The story hasn't felt finished. (With cancer, it never is completely over.)
Over the course of my life, I've created three novels, numerous essays and articles, with a few works published. In recent years, I have endeavored to let go of writing and considered myself a "recovering" novelist.
But the world has changed. Enter blogging and social media, and even as I write this, I suddenly understand that the bazillion posts I've made on Facebook have meant I've kept up my writing after all - in a less than lofty forum, true. But writing is writing, and readers are readers.
As for my cancer experience, perhaps the hardest part of my journey was that I had no one else who had been through this particular trauma. I had great support from other cancer survivors (and of course, from family and friends), but no one else had the experience of losing their face - the thing most linked to our identity. Knowing there are others out there somewhere who have also lost noses, eyes and ears to melanoma - not to mention all those who have lost breasts and other body parts to other cancers - I think I must take a stab at the monumental task of writing a book, if for no other reason than to connect with others who are walking this path.
Why am I telling you this? Well, you know how smokers need to tell someone they are quitting and dieters go to Weight Watchers for the weigh-in? Accountability can be a great motivator. I am now accountable to all of you to keep this going and I hope that will push me along.
But I am so rusty at the long form after years away from it, I think it will help to begin by priming the pump with blogs and tweets. Someday - not promising when - perhaps I'll have filled the well enough to offer you all a drink.
Fingers crossed, please.
I have thought long and hard about starting. And every time I do, I just don't feel ready. The story hasn't felt finished. (With cancer, it never is completely over.)
Over the course of my life, I've created three novels, numerous essays and articles, with a few works published. In recent years, I have endeavored to let go of writing and considered myself a "recovering" novelist.
But the world has changed. Enter blogging and social media, and even as I write this, I suddenly understand that the bazillion posts I've made on Facebook have meant I've kept up my writing after all - in a less than lofty forum, true. But writing is writing, and readers are readers.
As for my cancer experience, perhaps the hardest part of my journey was that I had no one else who had been through this particular trauma. I had great support from other cancer survivors (and of course, from family and friends), but no one else had the experience of losing their face - the thing most linked to our identity. Knowing there are others out there somewhere who have also lost noses, eyes and ears to melanoma - not to mention all those who have lost breasts and other body parts to other cancers - I think I must take a stab at the monumental task of writing a book, if for no other reason than to connect with others who are walking this path.
Why am I telling you this? Well, you know how smokers need to tell someone they are quitting and dieters go to Weight Watchers for the weigh-in? Accountability can be a great motivator. I am now accountable to all of you to keep this going and I hope that will push me along.
But I am so rusty at the long form after years away from it, I think it will help to begin by priming the pump with blogs and tweets. Someday - not promising when - perhaps I'll have filled the well enough to offer you all a drink.
Fingers crossed, please.
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