Deed done

Hair is straight. Hair is flat. Hair was attacked by straightening, things - whadjacallems.

It's still below my shoulders - so not *that* much was cut off it.
It has layers - I didn't think I'd have layers, coz, you know - fluffy hair and layers means *pouff*.

But actually, I think there will still be some curls when it *hasn't* been attacked by straightening things - and I won't be doing that because I'm lazy. I mean, I won't be doing that because that would cause the lymphoedema in my arm to flare up, I'm sure.....

I cried while it was cut; I cried after it was cut but mostly underneath the mane of hair whilst it was being cut; so it mostly didn't show.

I kept a few curls - you know - because. I needed to. I'm not sure why.

I cried because I looked a bit like I *used* to look - all that time ago. Apparently the curl will probably continue to grow out and it will go back to how it used to be. I'm sad about that.
But, as the hair came off I kept telling myself it was just change. Just more change. In a life that is full of change. With a person who hates and panics about change.
::sigh::
It's all about how we see ourselves in our mind's eye. And my mind's eye is confused. It sees the person I *was* - maybe it's a patchwork of many of the persons I have been.....and am. All I know is that I am surprised when I see myself in a mirror. That she is not who I am expecting.

Anyway, tis done. And I'm told it looks pretty good (but not so much in my webcam picture):
EDIT EDIT EDIT EDIT
You're in luck: Sweet Camden Lass has a *much* better picture from yesterday. De voila!

Woman overboard!

You know how you pysch yourself up to go to the hospital; so you don't turn into a raving, panicking lunatic when you get there......part of what keeps me out of my tree is knowing the people. So when you suddenly have to see one of the Juniors in the Onc Clinic instead of Mme. you suddenly get all into the 'man-the-lifeboats' phase. In case you don't see where we're going with this one - this was me yesterday.
He was very nice, and very thorough - which did freak me out. Mme never bothers with the whole tap your back, tap your stomach, poke your liver, listen to excessive amounts of breathing stuff. But when you're her junior - you do every damn thing on the list because if you miss something you'll be eating your own entrails for breakfast. Or, at least, that's the impression I get....sorry Mme, you're always very nice to me though!!!
So, the result of the tapping extravaganza is that I get the same pill regime - now go away and get them...all that tapping for nought! This is making me think of the Eddie Izzard sketch about finding hidden doors - "tap, tap, tap [ordinary voice], tap, tap, tap [low, hollow voice]" Somehow I think it may work better in real life than on the printed page.
Wheee! More pills! Whoopee! (Why yes, I am an ungrateful lout....)
Had a jolly interesting conversation yesterday about cultural memory. I think I have a rather puritanical cultural memory - I am, apparently, a roundabout descendent of John Howland. So, there you go. Factoid for the day.

Who's who?

After a couple of nights sleeping pretty well I was back to the not being able to sleep thing.
I think I was just feeling a bit down yesterday - we had dinner with my great-aunt and I felt a bit on display. You know, the kind of having to prove that you're doing OK. Regardless. Because I don't want her to know that I'm not. Or something. I don't know.
Then I was watching the DVD footage from the Peru trip in the summer - which was nice, but sad too. I watched myself and was amazed at how 'together' and confident I appeared. Relaxed even when I was scared out of my wits. I watched myself leading our final round-up - asking the girls to reflect on their experiences - trying to make sure we all went home with good feelings about the trip and I thought I was pretty damn good. I remembered why I came home feeling so much more positive about myself. I can't tap into it; but I can see why and where that came from. That woman seems completely different.
I find it had to reconcile all those different 'me's'. I'm starting to feel that it's probably normal. We're probably all different in different circumstances but I find that confuses me because I'm not sure who the 'real' me is. Am I the competent, successful, caring, understanding person? Or am I the distraught, ill, confused person? Both, of course. But how do I balance those? How can I be both in one person?
Confusing.

we

::sigh::
Compression 'garments' really don't go well with hot flushes.
It's currently taking all my self-control - including muttering to myself under my breath - to stop myself from ripping them off before I explode.
Deeply unattractive - just to add to how great I feel about my body, and they itch. Itch, itch, itch.

The following are some things I'm mostly writing down to remind myself. I'm not sure what they are or if they're 'right' - in general, or for me. We'll see.

We are alone in the world
We want meaning, a place, validation
Our identity and reality is defined by our personal beliefs and ideals - we make our own meaning
We cannot depend on others for our validation
We are free to make our own choices
We are personally responsible for the outcomes of those choices - there is no-one else to blame
Choices come with anxiety - fear of failure, fear of death
BUT
We are also free to make new and different choices; to reinvent ourselves

We are the architects, builders and planners of our own lives
"we are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams"

In other news - one more Zoladex injection to go!! Then, hopefully within a few months my body will revert to having hormones and stop having endless hot flushes. I could try and calculate how many I've had in the last two years but the numbers might get a bit ridiculous.....
Say, 15 a day for 2 years - how many is that?

10,950

That's quite a lot.

Any further questions as to why I am a mixed-up, crazy being??

Tell me who I am

Summer is definitely here - despite almost constant rain for the past 4 days.
But the adverts on the TV that tell me I need silky smooth legs - shaved, or epilated or waxed or depilitated (hmm, most of those may not be real words.....) If I do this then the man will kiss me - or better. And then those legs need to be tanned but I also need to use sunblock (or suntan lotion as we Brits still seem to call it - which is essentially missing the point). So I have to use fake tan as well as my sunblock (why haven't they come up with one that does both? It's probably in the offing). Then I can wear my little skirts and strappy heels.
But for that, I need to lose some weight - so I can wear my swimsuit. But, alternatively if I use a particular brand of bodywash then I'll be so smooth that I can not bother with the weight loss because I can be a 'real woman' or whatever.
Are you confused yet? Well you should be. This is the permanent state of womankind. Unsure of what she is and what she should be. Because all these things tell me that being a woman is not a good thing. I cannot be accepted (not really) unless I rectify these faults - this hair, this weight, my appearance - I haven't mentioned how apparently my eyelashes aren't good enough either. My teeth aren't white enough. My gray hairs and less taut skin are shameful and must be rectified. Are we never good enough as we are? Must we fight a constant losing battle against the expectations of society? Why can we not all agree to give it all up. Why can't we acknowledge that our bodies have hair - they evolved this way deliberately. Why can't we accept that our appearences change as we age. Why is the way we looked at 18, at 20, the ideal when we all know that we are far superior now we are older. Why do we let ourselves be manipulated in this way - why do we assist? If somehow we all could realise then we could act - there are more women than men in this world if we acted together then we could sway these things.
But we're all so different too.

Tell it like it T-I-is

La la lal alala
Tomorrow I'm talking to 130 cancer doctors from 27 different countries. Yes, I'm not sure why I agreed to that either....
I'm going to tell them that, gosh, having cancer is crap and it makes you feel pretty blue. I'm pretty sure they will have noticed that, which is why I'm going to be whining about the depersonalisation of treatment, the loss of identity, the attempts at trying to live as a one-breasted woman. Officially my title is "The physical, psychological and social consequences of breast cancer; a younger woman's perspective" - wheee! Get me! Speaking at a medical conference! Maybe I'll put up my 'talk' here once I've given it - although I don't think it'll be new to most of my readers! I f*cked up over it because I was supposed to write it a couple of weeks ago and send a draft to the woman who's organising the conference but I just have not had time until this week to really sit down and get my thoughts in a logical(ish) form. But I definitely ballsed up because I should have contacted her to let her know instead of just continually hoping and saying 'I'll do it tomorrow'. I've been feeling *really* guilty about that since I spoke to her on Friday - I hate it when people promise things and don't do what they say they will or let you know that they can't - and I've just done exactly that.....sometimes I really hate how I behave. However, it's written, the beloved has listened to it and given it the OK - I think it's fine - I'm not saying anything controversial or offensive; I've made it clear that it's my personal experience and I think it'll sound pretty good. And at the end of the day I can only say what I know and think - and letting someone else read and criticise it really might have broken my heart. Sadly, I've agreed to sit through the majority of the conference tomorrow - I'm living in fear that I'll hear something I really don't want to hear. Actually, it's more likely that I'll hear lots of stuff I don't understand!!
Keep your fingers crossed for me at 3.30pm GMT (Summer time) tomorrow!!

Luce Irigaray and Feminism - who are we?

Today's epistle is on Luce Irigaray and feminism and the role and identity of women.
Or, it would be if I knew anything other than what I read on Wikipedia about her; but I think I may need to know a bit more about what she thought.

Today I have been thinking about my identity as a woman or my lack of identity as a woman. I abhor all 'girlie'-ness and somehow feel it is a sign of weakness. Being female is to be weak and vulnerable; it does not comand respect. And so I am not allowed to plan a fantasy wedding or pick out my children's names or look at engagement rings. I am not allowed to wear dresses or make an effort to look pretty. If I wear makeup or dress smartly I feel like I have to put myself down. I hate to cry and be emotional or irrational.

Imagine how this confusion over my female identity has been affected by the loss of my breast.

You must understand that this is in some strange instinctual part of me that I feel this. It is not what I logically believe to be the case and it is not the way I think women ought to feel or what we or I should believe.
I believe in equality. But somewhere underneath I am undermined by myself. And I have no idea where I have learnt this from. Not really. In a roundabout way - I think I've always tried to behave in a non-'girlie' way and somehow that has had the effect of teaching me that to be female therefore must be 'bad'.

Apparently, Luce Irigaray started to say that that women could/should be equal for what they were, which is different to men. But that society did and does not recognise that. I believe that the 'third wave' feminists are the women out there who are saying that feminism is actually about choice - it is about choosing which elements of femininity to embrace. Which, I think, is what some 'mommybloggers' out there are saying - especially SAHMs who counter the arguments that they are undermining the work of feminists gone-by who fought to get women out of the home and into the workplace. That actually, being a feminist is about having the choice - of choosing or being as female as you wish.

But I can't be a woman - I haven't got the right shoes.