Well that’ll teach me. I’ve been announcing the good news like a Town Crier…’OYEZ….I am well….OYEZ……I am well’….
Buzzing off my accomplishment I’m like Tigger rather than Eyeore.
Then a clump of hair comes out in my hand
Not just a few strands like I am used to. A handful. I let it go and it dances on what little breeze there is and the tears come down. The Town Crier is silenced by my sobs. I’m getting quite good at sobbing silently. I guess you will too? It’s an art form – my new skill – another skill I have developed since getting breast cancer.
I’m on my local beach with sea spreading miles in front of me when it happens. Miles in front of me still lies months of treatment, anxiety and despair. I’m wondering if I’m now too good at detachment? You know I’ve felt well for a while but am I simply detaching myself from my cancer reality so I can cope? Survive. Live my life?
I’ve worked with clients showing signs and symptoms of a detachment disorder. These may include unexplained withdrawal, fear, sadness and irritability. Maybe not seeking comfort or showing no response when comfort is given. They fail to smile.
Familiar feelings but a different cause.
Why the hell am I reacting like this? Come on Heidi you knew this was going to happen. No big shocker here girl – you’ve ordered your wig and it’s on it’s way. You love it. Your lovely new colleague once friend has just told you ‘You’re going to look continuously awesome’. I carefully pull what hair I have left into a big clip and walk off the beach with my husband. My youngest saw what just happened and she is silent too. I know this was the part she was dreading the most and sadly she had front row tickets. I dare not wash it this morning for obvious reasons. I won’t lie. I’m petrified of taking it out.