Today I was asked what's the hardest part of my cancer. Without batting an eyelid or missing a heartbeat, I said losing my hair. No, not the nausea, not the weakness, not the surgery, not the sutures, not even the partial disfigurement. It's the hair.
But that's an easy answer. It's not the hair actually. Or rather should I say, it's not just the hair?
I think I know what it is. It's about not having a choice. About how you want to be, who you want to be, what you can reach out and pluck from the tree of life. But mostly about what you can no longer allow yourself to dream and hope for.
It's the absence of choice that is the hardest part of cancer. Not the hair.
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