It's been a while

I haven't written in a while and that's a good thing, it means I've been busy. Busy trying to move on and busy trying to get my strength back and busy complaining about my hair being short and coarse and weird. Then going to the hairdresser, or to Maura, and having that "too-short" hair cut because I can't stand the weirdness.

Mike says I'll have to suck it up and have weird hair for a while, or else it'll never grow out, Nicole! ARGHHH, I say. Maybe after the summer.

I tried a faux hawk again, but it's so thick that it whacks out in the humidity, like, sticks straight off my goddamn head, so I keep trimming the sides. It's like I have a raccoon tail at the top of my head, the hair's so thick there. A fuckin Davy Crockett head. I figure though, that when it does finally grow to a respectable length where it has enough weight to fall downwards, not out, that it'll be thick enough to cover up the undercut well enough. Who knows.

Me after a haircut today. A cut I did not need.

Anyhooters, what else? I'm still doing yoga stretches every day, and yoga with my lady once a week, and acupuncture once a month, and running - training slowly for Falmouth - and I started bootcamp with some Power Moms in my hometown. They all have kids and have been working out together for a couple years, so I have nothing to bring to the table in terms of conversation, but they're funny women and I am entertained all the same. Plus they kick my ass and leave me in the dust. It feels great.

All I can say is at this point I'm trying my damndest to live each day and move my God-given limbs and challenge my God-given brain and hug my dog and love Mike and care for our house and try to keep the C-word out of my vocabulary, and out of my mind, if I can help it. It's how I'm coping right now.

If anyone is reading who is going through this at a different stage, at a more difficult stage: for reference this time, last summer, I was coping with being completely bald, having a port shoved into my chest, counting down 12 weekly Taxols, fretting over what surgery to have (keep my boobs, or not keep my boobs?), and I hadn't even encountered the toughest part of this whole mess. That came later. It just kept getting harder, and harder. I know that's not very encouraging. But it did. Harder and harder. Until I didn't think I could do it anymore. Until I was so distraught and depressed and scared and anxious that I'd curl up in the shower in a ball. But weeks passed, and months passed, and little stubbly hairs grew, and eyelashes started sprouting again, and my fingers stopped hurting, and my nose stopped bleeding...slowly, slowly all of this, seemed to all happen at a crawl. But it happened, and I thanked God and the Universe every day, about how lucky I am to have all that I have and to feel all that I feel. And more days, and more weeks, and more months.  I'm still not in the perfect state of mind or being but I'm getting there. And you will too.