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Lookin'
Good, Feelin' Better?
I’ve got a
problem.
I look too good.
No, I’m really not conceited and I don’t have an “attitude.” I’m
not going to win any beauty contests and people don’t mistake me
for a movie star. However, for my age, and for what I am going
through, I look pretty darn good.
That is, for a cancer patient.
At least I look pretty good on the outside. The hair, the nails,
the make up and the clothes all look very nice.
Underneath the attractive clothes are several feet of scars from
ten major surgeries.
(I define “major surgery” as any operation requiring a minimum
of a month’s stay in the hospital with tubes up one’s nose, and
during which time one develops a close and personal relationship
with a bedpan!)
Underneath the scars lay the globular tumor masses which are
consuming the organs within my abdominal cavity and slowly
smothering the life out of me.
Underneath the tumor masses are my heart and soul, my spirit
which strives to “look good” regardless of the circumstances.
I look particularly good for a cancer patient because the
chemotherapy I have taken for two and a half years did not cause
me to lose my hair, not even an eyelash! My hair stylist bought
me a wig "just in case!”, but so far, I haven’t needed to
use it!
Just because I don’t feel well doesn’t mean I have to look the
part. Regardless of the season, I intentionally wear the
cheerful peaches, pinks and aqua blues that flatter my
complexion. In the winter I often wear red. During a pre
operative consultation, one of my surgeons told me that I looked
“vibrant” in my red suit with gold shiny buttons (even though I
was at “Stage 4” at the time!) I rarely wear black, gray or
brown. I prefer colors with vitality!
However, looking good has it drawbacks when you are physically
ill.
People are less likely, much less likely to help you when you
appear to be “healthy.”
Drivers scowl when I pull into handicapped parking stalls at the
mall.
One driver actually waited for me to exit my car and watched me
proceed at a snail’s pace to the store’s entrance.
A week before a recent twelve-hour surgery, a police officer
approached my car requesting to verify my disabled licensed
plate, clearly visible on the car.
Apparently when viewed through a car window wearing my
sunglasses, perky haircut (which I had cut short in preparation
for chemotherapy) and lipstick, I looked “too good” even though
all non essential organs, as well as portions of most essential
organs, have been removed from my torso.
At my condo complex, the majority of my own neighbors have
contested my use of a disabled parking space, again, declaring
that I “looked too good” to have cancer. Their callous
attitudes and gossip convinced me all the more to continue
making the effort to appear well groomed in public.
At a friend’s wedding (my only outing in months that didn’t
involve a doctor visit!)
a gentleman kindly asked me to dance and join in the
festivities. I have no doubt that he thought I was rude or
snobbish in declining his friendly offer. As much as I would
have enjoyed dancing, the fifteen pound tumor that was
compressing my diaphragm and lung capacity, made it challenging
to walk across the ballroom, let alone dance, but he had no way
of knowing that by simply looking at me.
As I approached the door of a doctor’s office recently, a senior
citizen held the door open for his teenage grandson who was
nursing a broken ankle. The young man kindly maneuvered his
crutches and stepped aside providing me with entrance to the
doorway first. His grandfather brusquely directed him, “No, you
go first, you need the door opened more than she does!” The teen
sheepishly complied with his grandfather’s instructions, but I
appreciated the boy’s heartfelt manners.
Truthfully, since I live alone, drive to my doctor’s office more
than an hour away from home, travel to distant hospitals via
airplanes and run errands by myself, it would be unsafe for me
to be seen looking frail. I could appear to be an easy target
for a mugging, or worse. Just as sick birds instinctually fluff
their feathers to fit in with a flock to avoid being detected as
weak and pecked to death, I fluff mine when I am out in public
to avoid being vulnerable to crime.
One reason I look “good” is because I seem to have inherited my
81-year-old father’s “vanity gene!” This is a man who faithfully
attends his high school and WWII Veterans’ reunions, not just to
reminisce with his old buddies, but to proudly show off his full
head hair and his “washboard” stomach!
A few years ago when he awoke from triple by pass surgery he
commanded that I fetch his hairbrush so that his silver hair
could be immaculately combed into place. He refused the hospital
issued Aone size does not fit all A green nightgown and insisted
on wearing his own silk pajamas from home! I dare say that his
vanity has served him well and may have contributed to his
longevity!
Another reason I make efforts to look good is because I believe
I am a role model for other cancer patients, and for those
friends and acquaintances who will be diagnosed five or ten
years from now, after I am long gone. Statistics say that one
out of every three of us will be diagnosed with some type of
cancer during our lifetime. In the future when friends may be
diagnosed, I know that they will think back to me and my image
will pop into their head. I want that image to be one of
strength, courage and inspiration to persevere through this
disease. We all have so many heartbreaking remembrances of loved
ones who looked so ravaged before they passed away.
I pray that I can maintain my vanity until the very end and that
I will insist on wearing my silk pajamas instead of the
hospital’s cotton green nightgowns
Besides, I never did look good in green!
An Excerpt
from Where the Red Tailed Hawk Flies
Copyright by Gabriella Graham 1999 |
