The Christmas Hope

The Christmas season is one of my favorite times of year. With so much anticipation for Christmas day, most people’s spirits tend to be filled with extra cheer. Words of joy, love, peace, and hope are so easily spoken—after all, “Tis the season to be jolly,” as the song says. When I think back on the many Christmases I’ve experienced, I know I’m fortunate to say that the majority of them have been filled with wonderful memories, surrounded by the people I love most in this world. Going to the Christmas tree farm, having special meals together, decorating sugar cookies, and jamming out to Christmas songs are a few favorites of mine. But I know from personal experience that with these special traditions and memories, come times of heartbreak and sadness for some.

Maybe your loved one who used to be around for your favorite holiday traditions is no longer here, or maybe you’ve never had great relationships with your family members, so seeing everyone send out their picture perfect Christmas cards can make you feel even more alone. Or maybe your Christmas will never be the same due to an unforeseen illness such as cancer. No matter the cause of your heartbreak or disappointment there are two things you should know.

1. I hear you and I see you. Even though our circumstances are probably different, I understand why you have pain around this time of year, and it is valid.

2. Despite the loneliness, bitterness, sadness, or anger you feel around this time of year, there is still hope. If you find this hope, you can experience all the joy in the world despite your circumstances.

I never understood the pain that the holidays can bring about until I was diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer right before Christmas. In fact, it was December 22nd, 2020 when I first received my diagnosis and thought to myself, “Christmas is never going to be the same.” Sadly, the trend of getting negative news around the holidays has continued for my family and me as I’ve repeatedly received bad scan reports at this time of year.

This year in particular has been especially and unexpectedly difficult. Once again my scans showed growth of cancer on my liver, but this time around my oncologist seemed less positive about the future. At this point in time she doesn’t believe that oral medications will be effective, so the plan is to go back to IV chemotherapy. Nolan and I left my appointment feeling devastated and to be frank, quite hopeless. Once again, our Christmas will be tainted by my depressing cancer diagnosis. I’ve found myself thinking “can’t we just have a normal, happy holiday again?!” Oh, how my family and I long for some good news! I’ve also asked myself if maybe God has put us through these trials around this time of year, because there are so many reminders of hope at Christmas time? After all, Christmas is a time in which we celebrate the greatest news of all, Jesus’ birth. A time where we rejoice because Jesus rescues us from our sins and frees us from the burdens of this world.

I was reading an advent devotional by Ruth Chou Simons, and a particular line really struck me. She writes, “Where you set your hope this Christmas season will determine how you find joy.” Since being diagnosed with a terminal illness, I have learned the hard way that there is so little I can put my hope in. All of the things I have trusted in the past—including my young and healthy body and medicine and medical technology—have continuously let me down. Many of my plans and dreams have been snatched away from me and each day is uncertain. The more I hope for a cancer free body, the more disappointed I become. I cannot put my hope in anything but my Lord and Savior or else my joy will be stolen for good.

This Christmas, I am once again reminded that my future is certain because of a baby boy who was born in a manger. Although my body is failing me, I have hope because I know that one day I will be freed from the awful, devastating pain I am experiencing now. My diagnosis may temporarily steal my happiness, but I know I can still experience genuine joy. This is one of the beautiful things about this time of year. As we anticipate Jesus’ birth we discover hope, and with that we receive His gifts of joy, peace, love, and when our time comes, eternal life with him, if we just believe. Instead of letting my diagnosis steal my joy this season, I am choosing to put my hope in God and trusting that He will supply me with all I ever need. This is not always an easy task, but the more time I spend in prayer and in scripture, the easier it is to remember His promises. Maybe the trials we face on earth are what we need to remember that Jesus is near, not only in the Christmas season, but for the rest of eternity. So, for the holidays this year, challenge yourself and ask: Where have I set my hope?

No hair, not fair

There's somewhat of a stigma when it comes to being bald in our society. No one wants to be accused of balding, let alone look like Mr. Clean, especially at a young age, but if you're a woman, being bald is just out of the question! I specifically remember watching the movie, My Sister's Keeper when I was in high school and thinking, “If I had a sister who had cancer, would I be willing to shave my head?" Followed by the thought, "Good thing I don't have a sister, cause I would never want to shave my head!!!" As petty as this sounds, I think it's a much more common thought than people like to admit. I don’t think I personally know one woman who would voluntarily shave her head and lose all her hair. And I'm not talking about a stylish buzz cut or shorter hairdo. No—hair completely gone, all you're left with is a shiny egg head. Not sure why my memory of watching My Sister's Keeper so many years ago sticks in my head, but after receiving a very unexpected cancer diagnosis myself, I had to kind of laugh at the irony. Who in their right mind, ever thinks they're going to have to go through chemo and lose their hair, let alone receive a cancer diagnosis, especially in their 20's (or ever)?! No one!!! I say all of this because today marks one year since my last day of chemotherapy—one full year of hair growth!!! So, I thought it would be fitting to talk about hair loss with chemo. The good, the bad, and the ugly (yes, there's a tiny bit of good that comes with hair loss).

I'd like to say that losing my hair was just another part of having cancer, but it's so much more than that! I have vivid images in my head of the moment I realized chemo had started to take my hair. I was trying to be proactive and buy a wig in advance that matched my natural hair color and style, and while I'm sitting in the salon chair at the shop, the store owner casually goes, "oh, looks like you're already starting to lose your hair!" The way she nonchalantly mentioned it as she was handing me wigs to try on still boggles my mind. Yes, I was at a wig store for a reason, and yes, she works with balding people all the time, but you cannot just casually tell a 26 year old woman, "oh, looks like your hair's already starting to fall out" and act like it's nothing. I remember sitting in that chair, looking in the mirror at myself, and trying to hold back tears with everything in me. It's one thing to know, maybe even expect, that your hair is going to fall out, but it's another thing to actually see it happening right in front of you for the first time and try to process it. From that moment on, I knew that losing my hair was going to be excruciatingly difficult and painful for me.

So if you're going through chemo, and experiencing similar feelings, please know you're not alone! I know for me, it took weeks, maybe even months to fully mourn the loss of my hair. It's no joke when I say I think I cried the most consecutive days in a row when my hair was falling out. There's a chance I cried about my hair more than when I originally received my diagnosis. This may seem crazy to some people, but let me explain some of the reasons why this experience was so painful. Number one: the reality of having cancer finally hit me. Although the first few weeks and months after receiving a cancer diagnosis contain many emotional ups and downs, losing my hair made me feel like a true cancer patient. Yes, I'd already been to what felt like a million appointments and counting, as well as had multiple scans, pokes, and prods but up until this point, when I looked in the mirror, I still saw myself. After that noticeable first clump of hair falling out in the wig store, I was afraid to look in the mirror. Not only was I afraid of what I'd see physically, but I was also afraid of the new reality that was my life. Number two: I felt like I was losing a part of who I was. You may think, "oh, it's just hair, and people cut their hair all the time, so why is it such a big deal?" But if you grow up and have had long, beautiful hair most of your life, it's a huge change!! Also, not trying to toot my own horn, but I had people compliment me on my thick, long, curly hair all the time! Random strangers would come up to me and comment on how lucky I was to have such gorgeous hair, and while I appreciated their kind words, I think it made losing my hair that much harder. It felt like a big part of the way people identified me was being taken away, and I thought people weren't going to look at me the same way again. Rather than being a normal looking girl, who happened to be blessed with nice hair, I was now going to be looked at as a bald girl and could immediately read peoples' thoughts as they labeled me as someone with cancer. Number three: I actually liked my hair! It made me feel beautiful, and without it, a lot of my confidence was lost.

About a week after my experience at the wig shop was when my hair really started to fall out, and I mean clumps and clumps of hair everywhere. Every time I took a shower, I sobbed because I could see a part of me being washed down the drain. In fact, it was so emotionally painful for me, I could not get myself to shower. So, in my extremely vulnerable state, I cried as my loving husband, Nolan, helped shower me and wash what was left of my hair. It was at this point when I knew something had to be done. I couldn't keep slowly watching my hair fall out each day. I needed to rip the Band-Aid off. So, with tears, I told my family I needed to shave my head to get the pain (both physically and mentally) over with.

I will never forget how, in the spur of the moment, my only friend in the area (at the time) came running over to be with me and support me in this emotional time. With the help of Nolan, my parents, and my friend, Murphy, we shaved my head. I felt so exposed and weak, but I had my loved ones there embracing me and holding my hand, telling me it was going to be okay.

This may seem completely depressing, and while it is, there is more to the story (this is where the "good" of hair loss comes in). A couple weeks back, before chemo started to cause my hair to fall out, my mom had the idea to invite some of my friends over to hang out, and to celebrate me as I cut my long hair, to a shorter length above my shoulders. I loved this idea and asked some girls if anyone would be interested, and of course, my amazing girlfriends said yes in a heartbeat! One of my friends had the idea to have the ladies dye their hair pink in support of me and breast cancer. I was so flattered by this and loved the idea. My sweet husband, brothers, and dad all wanted to join in on the fun so they shaved their heads in support as well. It was one big hair dyeing, head shaving party! And let me tell you, I felt so loved and supported by some of the people I love most in this world. I will never forget how fortunate I felt in that moment, that I had multiple people in my corner who were there for me and willing to do whatever it took to make me feel better. While I realize I am extremely blessed with the support system I have, I would recommend to anyone going through chemo to rally your people to be there for you. Whether or not they shave their heads is up to them (no, I did not ask my amazing family to do that, they offered), but just having some friends or family around for moral support is so helpful. It was also recommended to me to cut my hair shorter before I started chemo because not only can having long hair cause more physical pain when your hair is falling out but it can be so helpful to ease yourself into the idea that you're going to look and feel a whole lot different. Another thing we did to celebrate this moment was take some before and after pictures (shown below). I'm blessed with a photographer as a mother so while that may help, even just taking a few photos to reminisce on the day is a great idea.

While cutting my hair shorter did not completely take away the pain I was about to experience in a few short weeks when my hair would begin to fall out, it still helped me feel as though I was in control of something in my life, when there was so much that was out of my control. This is one of the hardest things about having cancer - everything is out of your control and you feel so helpless. There is nothing you can do to make your life go back to normal. Throwing a hair-cutting party with friends was a great way to take control of something, and it reminded me how fortunate I was to be blessed with such amazing people in my life. So, if you find yourself having a hard time before you start chemo (which you will), or while your hair is falling out (which you will), or while your eyelashes and eyebrows fall out (which you will), or after you've been bald for a few months and you're just missing you hair (which you will), just remember that you're not alone in these feelings. Chemo sucks and is exhausting, difficult, and lonely, and on top of that being bald sucks! But you can get through, especially with the help of family and friends. And then one day you'll look back (like me), and see how far you've come, and how much stronger you are because of what you've been through. And you'll see a photo of yourself a year ago today—thanks Facebook and snapchat memories—where you're completely bald, and you'll look at yourself in the mirror and see how much your hair has grown, and how much you've grown and smile

Before...

Cutting my hair

Shaving Nolan's head

Dyeing our hair pink!

After!

Last day of chemo!

Done with chemo!

A full head of hair

One full year of hair growth!

Cancer doesn't stop after chemo

Cancer and chemotherapy. These two phrases tend to go hand in hand, but just because someone has completed chemo, doesn't mean they don't have cancer anymore. While you may think to yourself, "yes, I know chemo doesn't always cure cancer," I wanted to bring this to your attention because it can sometimes feel as though others have forgotten I'm still in treatment. Don't get me wrong, I'm consistently blessed by my amazing family and friends, but now that it's been over a year since my diagnosis, I've definitely noticed the cards, care packages, and flowers have slowly started to dwindle away. While I realize this is just a part of life when it comes to hardship, I want to vocalize for my fellow cancer thrivers and me that our lives are permanently impacted by a cancer diagnosis. With a stage IV diagnosis, you don't just stop treatment after chemo. In fact, I will be in treatment for the rest of my life.

Receiving chemo was one of the most difficult things I've ever done. I hope I never have to experience the side effects of chemo ever again including the extreme fatigue, appetite suppression, nausea, heartburn, and hair loss. It truly kicked me in the butt. I remember after losing my hair, feeling like a true cancer patient. There was something about walking into a public space, feeling as though everyone was looking at me and automatically knew I had cancer because of my lack of hair, or the headscarf I was wearing. I hated this feeling, and remember fearing that people would first identify me as a sick person, or someone with cancer.

While I pray I never have to relive those moments, there is something about looking like a cancer patient. People were able to tell I had cancer without me having to say a word. And now that my hair is growing back (yay!!!), strangers can no longer tell that I'm going through the toughest fight of my life. They just think I choose to have short hair! While I'm overjoyed that my hair is growing back, my life is still forever changed. There is not a day that goes by where I don't have to worry about what the future may hold, or what new injection or medication I'm going to have to try out next. Just because I'm generally feeling well, and I don't physically look like I'm in active treatment, I still face challenges on a daily basis. Almost every week I have to go to the cancer center to get my blood drawn, receive injections, or meet with my oncologist. On top of that, I need scans every three months to check on the growth of my cancer.

While having stage IV cancer definitely requires more medical attention, I've talked to plenty of women who've had a lower stage of breast cancer and are now in remission who still experience these same feelings. While they may not have as many doctors appointments as me, many others are still on medications for years, and in the back of their minds are wondering, "does this pain I have mean my cancer is back?" or "how long do I need to be on a juicing diet?"

The point of this post is not for pity. It is to raise awareness that having cancer isn't only difficult at the beginning, but is burdensome for the rest of your life; And it can be really difficult once the realization hits that everyone else's lives will move on like normal, whether or not they can help it, and that my life is forever changed and includes continual hardships and stressors despite the amount of time that's passed.