Searching For the Rainbows After Cancer

For weeks I told myself it would not matter. It was just hair. A phase. I would rock being bald with cool scarves and a whole line of red lipsticks in different hues. I lied. When my hairbrush trapped the first massive clumps of my long blonde strands, I cried.

I cried for loss -- the loss of my own body, my dignity. My healthy number of friends diminished as the novelty of the cancer diagnosis wore off. The meals and calls eventually stopped coming. My husband. And...myself.

I became that "frump" girl. I gained weight. I lost my hair. I was unable to use makeup or jewelry. I had at least fourteen fractures in my body so I was unable to be active. I ended up using a walker and at times, a wheelchair. Almost daily I got unsolicited advice about my hairstyle (or lack thereof), my body, and my attitude from “well-meaning” friends and co-workers.

• “I thought chemo was supposed to make you skinny. Why are you gaining so much weight?”
• “I really miss your gorgeous hair.”
• “You look so tired today. You should try using more make-up.”
• “Think positively and your health will bounce right back!”
• “You should try wearing a wig.”
• “You don’t look happy. You are not going to get well if you cry a lot.”
• “No pain, no gain.”
• “Are you sure

(insert any word here, such as your Paleo diet)

didn’t give you cancer?” I could not recognize my own body when I dared to look in the mirror. It felt and looked different. It was merely a tomb of my trapped soul. I no longer could wear the lacy bras because the skin was too sensitive. I no longer felt like a woman in her own skin. I searched for familiarity and even my own eyes betrayed me. Who was this person? I asked myself: “Where am I?”

The first few weeks I got so many assurances from people who swore they would stand by me until the end. Just “let them know if there’s anything they can do.” A year and half later, I only had a few handful who remained by my side. I gained new ones. Oddly they were not the friends who I had expected to be there from the start.

• “Being around you makes me too sad...I just can’t see or talk to you while you are in pain or afraid.”
• “I don’t have time for your family and mine. You should probably think about getting the girls in foster care until you are better. Or have someone in your family to take them in.”
• “Your sadness depresses me. I cannot enjoy spending time with you. You are a negative person.”

The phone calls and messages became less and less as I became sicker. As I continued to work two jobs as an English teacher and an ASL professor, I kept on raising my two daughters with every effort to keep their lives as stable as possible. I packed lunches, made gifts for teachers, and hosted birthday parties. I was deeply conscious of the fact that my illness impacted them the most, and how I handled it will resonate with them. I was determined not to let my illness interfere with raising them; but I failed, every single day, in small ways. Sometimes big ways. My self-esteem plummeted. My self-image became clouded by words of others going around in my head like a funnel cloud that is ready to strike the ground.

One day my small daughter opened up about how tired she was of the endless doctor visits and other crappy things that comes with having a Mommy with cancer. I shared the cliché analogy of how rainbows come after storms. It just so happened that the heavy thunderstorms had just passed us, so I was fairly sure we would find a rainbow in the countryside with a short drive.

“Let’s go rainbow-hunting!” I said spontaneously. Both of my daughters gleefully got in the car and we went for a drive. We looked and looked...

No rainbows.

Talk about epic Mommy failure. I pulled over to a gas station to grab some gas before we head on home. The sun was now glaring down on us. Suddenly my daughter exclaimed, “Look! Mommy, look! A rainbow!”

I looked at where she was pointing and I realized she was talking about not an actual rainbow in the sky...but the reflection of sunlight hitting the oil patches on the pavement. I started to tell her that it was not really a rainbow but rather what is called constructive interference. I started to tell her that the colors of the rainbows really depend on the angle from which you are looking. I wanted to add that if you turn a certain way, the colors disappear. If you look at it just right, you will get the whole spectrum of colors.

I didn’t tell her those things. I told her it was indeed a rainbow. She looked at me and said, “It’s the most beautiful rainbow I have ever seen.” I caught a reflection of myself in the car window. And it was that moment I declared my body off limits to others. Others no longer had the power to define me, my beauty, and my standards.

I just need to remember to look with the right angle so I would see all of the colors I could bring. Do you know why? Sometimes the most beautiful rainbows are seen when we are looking down instead of up.

Photo courtesy of Shelby Deeter

What's a rainbow you found on your cancer journey? Tell us in the comments below!