Bald IS Beautiful

by Carol Fragale Brill

Over the last couple of months, my family and friends have repeatedly reassured me that Bald is Beautiful. While I appreciate the sentiment, I didn't believe them and chalked it up to everyone just being supportive and kind.

And then I saw Joan Lunden's picture on the recent cover of People Magazine.

To say I am in awe and inspired that Joan Lunden bared her head on PEOPLE— a magazine read by an estimated 43 Million+ people and seen my who knows how many more— is a huge understatement.

Asked about her decision she said, "It was such a tough decision. . ."And it wasn’t the comfortable decision — knowing you were going to be seen by everyone in such a vulnerable way — but I know it was the right decision. I knew I could be a voice for a quarter of a million women . . . and I wanted to show that your health is more important than your hair. Your hair grows back after you stop chemo, and then you have your life."

I wonder if in weighing her uncomfortable decision she grappled with all the reasons not to do it—if like me, she came up with a long list of what-ifs and buts.

There’s a saying I learned from my Scottish friends, Bella and Julie that goes something like—if ifs and buts were candy and nuts, every day would be Christmas. The first time I heard that saying, I had no idea what it meant. Now, I think it means we can— and often do— stockpile excuses not to do stuff—especially the hard stuff that forces us to face fears or risk being seen as vulnerable.

Before I actually lost my hair, I was sure I’d keep my head under wraps with everyone but Jim. I can count on one hand the family and friends who have glimpsed it. And, then, Joan Lunden showed the bravery and beauty to let People put her bald head on their cover. I had to ask myself, if she put it out there for the millions who read People, is it time to suck-up the fear and insecurity by doing my small part? 

Unsure and uncomfortable, I talked it over with Jim. He asked me why, after being so private up until now, I’d want to take the risk.

The best answer I have is that the sooner I accept that being bald is part of my life right now, the sooner I take away its power and move on.

 

So, it seems like the best way to honor Joan Lunden’s bravery, is to (gulp) find the guts to follow her lead and do the same thing here.

After You Hear, "It's Cancer"

Peach Ribbon/Uterine Cancer

by Carol Fragale Brill

It’s been fifty years since my dad died from brain cancer when I was twelve. My rational self knows that over those fifty years, there have been countless advances in cancer treatment—that today, having cancer is not the six-months-to-live death sentence it was when he was diagnosed, and many kinds of cancer are completely curable.

And yet.

After a recent abnormal Pap smear and biopsy, when my doctor said, “It’s cancer,” my rational self went AWOL, and my first terrified thought was, “is this how I’m going to die?”

Fortunately, Jim was with me to reinforce all the positive things the doctor said about catching it early because I take care of myself, get regular physicals and Pap tests, and that this type of cancer is typically curable.

After a few more hours of dark thoughts, a fragile acceptance started to sink in. Amazingly, Jim and I both slept better that night than we had for several days. Having an idea of what we were up against was actually better than the fretful days and sleepless nights of imagining the worst.

We’re in another cycle of waiting now as my surgery gets scheduled, and then we'll wait again for tissue and lymph node biopsy results. I hold on to the assurances from friends, who are cancer survivors, that waiting is the hardest part and that it gets easier once you know the treatment plan.

At some point that first night, I had a brief attack of uncertainty about what I was supposed to do next—put my life on hold, cancel everything on my calendar? Jim and I talked and decided I should do exactly what I would have done before my diagnosis. So the next day, I got up and took a bike ride, showed up for my consulting gig, and spent the late afternoon with Jim reading on the beach.

I knew I’d made the right decision about continuing to “do” my life when a friend who is a breast cancer survivor shared a piece of advice that someone had shared with her: Give cancer every bit of time necessary—and not a minute more.

I wish I could say that those first hours after hearing it's cancer were the only time I melted-down. The truth is dark thoughts lurk just below the surface and pop up at some point almost every day. Sometimes it’s a fleeting thought like when I admire a sundress in a shop window and then wonder if I buy it, will I have a chance to wear it. Or, when I reach for placemats, and instead of the everyday ones, I take out the “good ones” asking myself what am I saving them for?

Most days, I can shake those thoughts off pretty quickly. Sporadically, grief hijacks my thoughts and I wallow in self-pity and project about what-ifs. But even on those days, when I put my day in balance, so far, the fear and sadness are always outweighed by hope.

At first, I wanted to hide my fears to protect my family and friends from feeling afraid too. Then a friend sent me a card that says: Cancer is tough but you’re tougher. I realized I can put my feelings out there and trust that my family and friends and readers are tougher than cancer, too.

Facing Fears?

It continues to surprise me when people tell me they see me as a strong person. Many days I feel so far from brave, that if I was a recipe, I’d be one part courage and four parts wimp.

The past year brought many changes—my 60th birthday, “temporary” early retirement, a new job/benefits/coworkers/work schedule/commute. And go ahead and laugh at the next list if you must—a new i Pad, Android phone, cell phone number, and i Pod!

Each of these changes presented its own myriad set of choices and decisions—some simply exciting, others mind-boggling. In the end, they all required me to either adjust my view of my world or—ugh! — change behaviors. And, all of them gave me (the sometimes unwelcome) opportunity to learn new things.

Why do I bring this up now?

Because after years of writing, rewriting, editing, and querying agents, after two derailed offers of representation for my novels, and getting close enough another half-dozen times to have my hopes dashed, I have accepted the reality of today’s topsy-turvy publishing world. If a debut novelist wants to get published, 99.99999% of the time, you have to do-it-yourself.

If you aren’t an aspiring novelist, you may not grasp the fear that strikes in my heart. Learning the inner workings of the publishing business—things like, print fonts, e-pub formatting, front and back matter, interior and book cover design, ISBNs, book marketing and distribution, and some freakin’ thing called metadata! Seriously? What could a 60-year-old non-nerd possibly know about that?

When I started writing creatively 15+ years ago, I thought, “If you write it they will come.” Jeez, was I naïve!

If you are familiar with 12 step programs, you know the 4th step is, “Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.” The first time I tried to work step 4, the word fearless made me think I wasn’t ready. Then I heard someone share, “Fearless doesn’t mean without fear, it means with courage.”

OH!

So baby step by baby step, I muster the courage to face my fear and embark on the self-publishing process.

What wisdom can you offer to keep my fears from turning me back?