This past weekend, I spent a few hours in the yard. I’ve been slowly cleaning up the overgrowth and weeds that accumulated over the last year. Every time I do anything in the yard this year, I’ve thought about the friends who came last year to weed and mulch when I was sick. What an amazing gift.
The big task this weekend was pruning the Forsythia. It had grown over so completely that many of the branches were rooted back into the ground trying to make their own new little Forsythia bushes. This is a photo of what it looked like when I was done. The chopped up plant (on the left next to the bench), along with the pile of branches I cut off (on the tarp). I wish I had taken a “before” picture, but I suppose you get the idea. Anyway, this got me thinking about the power of Before and After pictures. Home improvement shows and makeover shows use them all the time. I suppose we just don’t remember the “befores” very well, so need the visual reminder.
This past year, I took a LOT of photos of myself. It started with a photo of my boobs before the mastectomy. I know. It sounds weird. And it was really weird taking that photo. But I felt like I was on this precipice and that I was going to become a different person after jumping off. I wanted to remember who that person had been and the photo was the only way I could think to record that. Then later, I began to take other photos of the reconstruction process. No, don’t worry, I’m not going to show you any of those! [Just an aside to say thank you for digital cameras.]
Thinking about it later, I’m not sure what I expected to get out of that series of photos. I believe I originally thought was that if I were stuck in some part of the process that did not look so good, it would help to see how far things had come. How much better it was compared to the beginning of reconstruction. It served that purpose somewhat. In the end, though, it seems that I appreciate this record more because it provides proof. On those days when I think to myself, “What just happened? Was that some kind of dream?”, those pictures help me to process it all. To remind me of what I have been through. They also remind me to be kind to myself. To not rush through the healing. That it really was a big deal.
I also took a whole series of photos of my hair growing back. Now, THAT I can show you. Here is a group of them - one of me after chemo was done and before any regrowth, one a few months later just before I started showing my head again, one a couple of months after that, and finally another that I took after I got my hair cut and colored a couple of weeks ago.
That was the second time I had gotten my hair cut since it started to grow back. The first time, I went to a Gilda’s Club event specifically for women who had cancer/chemo. A salon and stylists donated their time and space, which was a lovely thing to do. This time, I went back to Amanda at Cognito, where I’ve been going for years. The last time I had gone to her was to have my head shaved during chemo. It felt so wonderful to be back - happy, feeling strong and healthy. I also felt like I was finally choosing my hairstyle again, instead of just trying to make do. I’m keeping it short and have new highlights and I love it. I’m no longer letting chemo and cancer dictate my hairstyle. Yay!
Back to the picture of that Forsythia . . . it does not look so good. I know. I really chopped the hell out of it. But I’ve done that before and it grew back, bloomed, and looked great, so I have faith that it is headed in the right direction. Which kind of makes this “after” picture also a “before.” That is one notion I particularly like - that every “after” picture is actually a new beginning. The picture of me with my new hairstyle . . . well, that is just the Before picture of my life After cancer.
