Let it be known that I'm still peeking my head round the door of said 'other side'. I'm not quite fully fledged, but I'm getting there slowly. This takes time. And support. And in my case an on-again, off-again relationship with hair extensions and a slowly decreasing tolerance for high heels.
Lets linger on the shallow for a little longer (because I'll be honest, I don't much like dealing with the serious stuff, even now. Hair 'do's it is then). I am still in love with my pixie crop. I'm even glad I got to give it a go, and the majority of people who saw me with it thought I was VERY brave. In a fashion sense, not a cancer one. Since who would ever think that was the default reason for a 30-odd year old woman to have that drastic a hair cut if you didn't know?
Most days while I struggle with my mid-bob in the mornings, I fantasise about cutting it all short again. But I've been through a lot with this new, young hair. It would feel so flippant to just cut it all off and start again. Like turning my back on a two year relationship after getting over the cheating incident, working hard at building the trust again, even starting to think about couples counselling. Why waste all that effort if you're just gonna start a fresh with someone new? Plus there are the children to consider (am I going a bit far with this analogy?). My other half, Dadjokes can take on that particular role. He also reminisces about the crop, but when I float the idea of doing it again one day he says, 'yeah, but NO, ok?' OK. Because there are memories that go with the short short still, so till they're put to rest I'm growing it.
So this is me. Normal service almost resumed. I count my lucky stars I have managed to land my dream job, even after all the crap that preceded it. If that doesn't all add up to a big fat achievement I don't know what does.
The rest of the road to normalcy has some steep inclines on the horizon. There is the reconstruction to consider. I'm more worried about the weeks off work than the actual process. Truth be told I kind of like the morphine opportunities it presents, but don't tell my surgeon. There's the bone density issues I just discovered I need to add to my list. But you know, I'm getting older (and I'm so happy to do that btw), so these things happen right? My heels might need to be lower and my pill-count just went up along with the expected side effects, but thats LIFE. And LIFE is what I'm focusing on with all my heart and soul. So screw you stupid breast cancer. Ha.