The Cancer Survivors Club by Chris Geiger Page B

for at least six months anyway.
    It’s strange how much colder it is with no hair, but hair loss does have its perks. For a runner during the cold weather, you never get hat hair and taking a shower is less time consuming. You save on shampoo and other hair products, and towel drying your head is done in a matter of seconds. Beats the fifteen minutes it takes to blow dry. There’s no such thing as a bad hair day, they’re all the same. Just place the wig on your head and go. To be honest, the wig was the first thing to come off when I got home. The chemotherapy induced hot flushes, I felt so hot! I think the sight of my baldness was a little troubling to my pre-teen, so I’d wear a bandana to cover it up. I didn’t wear the wig very much on weekends either. I wore it only on special social occasions or when going shopping with the girls.
    Although I was somewhat sidelined by chemotherapy, it didn’t keep me off the road and I ran as often as possible. I’m convinced that the effort to lace up my shoes actually gave me the energy to endure the treatment. I ran a five-kilometre race midway through my treatment and clocked one of my better times. I remember thinking to myself as I ran past the cheering spectators along the race route, ‘Way to go, chemotherapy girl – you show them.’
    The night before my last day of treatment, my three daughters and I made cupcakes for the nurses and doctors on the Oncology Ward. It was in part a celebration and a way to thank them at the same time. It provided hope for my daughters that they would have their mother back and that life would start to be normal again. We had a wonderful dinner that night with friends; it was the perfect tonic.
    With the treatment officially over, it felt strange at first. I wasn’t at the hospital being checked by my doctor and healthcare workers every two weeks. I didn’t have the security of being able to ask questions whenever I wanted. It took a lot of getting used to not going to hospital. Initially, it felt like I’d just been dumped by a boyfriend, honestly. To celebrate this newfound freedom, and because my running was going so well, I made plans to run a half-marathon just four months after the end of my treatment. The belief I had in myself and my confidence in being able to finish the race were all I needed, even if I was a little bit slower than in my pre-cancer days.
    My true transformation really began towards the end of the year. Breast cancer, or any cancer for that matter, places you in front of your greatest fear. I had a choice when looking that fear in the eye. I could laugh and believe in myself and my ability to survive or not. There was never a moment that I didn’t believe I’d get well. Even when I had my meltdowns while I was crashing off the steroids and medication following chemotherapy, my belief was still there. The transformation taking place now was more of me as a person. I had shed the previous skin I was wearing in my pre-cancer days and had become somehow different.
    At first, it was the small things I noticed, like being more patient and more grateful for things like a beautiful moon, or the joy of hearing the waves while I walked along the beach. It’s the appreciation of seeing the loving smile on my daughter’s face as she sleepily gazes up at me upon awaking. Although these things may have given me joy before, I now noticed them more. I had a newfound tendency to see the glass half full. I no longer angrily shout at the car in front of me in rush-hour traffic, in my haste to get to work. I listen to inspirational CDs now, or sing along to a great song in the peace of my car instead. In fact, I sit quietly in amusement when someone I know loses it because something is making them angry.
    Like tending a garden, I was transforming my life in other ways as well. Some of the friends I once had were replaced by others. It’s not because we had a falling out,