Swingin' in the Breeze
Or, How sunglasses saved my dignity… sort-of.
The last time I was undergoing chemo, I was determined to use the time to its fullest. I knew that a couple of days after my infusion I was going to be feeling like I'd been hit by a truck – so I always tried to make sure once the fog started to lift a bit, I got out and lived my life. I have much more empathy for aging men as a result of this experience, because being bloated and bald is no day at the beach!
Sometimes I felt energetic enough to hop in my car and actually go someplace. The problem with heavy-duty chemo is that you can start off feeling all chipper and ready to take on the world, and quickly devolve into feeling wobbly-kneed and worn out without much notice.
I distinctly recall lunches with friends where part way through the meal I felt like my head was going to end up on my plate, or worse yet, my lap. People would be talking to me and suddenly their voices would seem farther and father away. It wasn't so much like fainting, just the need to close my eyes and sleep.
On one shopping excursion I got tired trying on shoes (you know I'm sick when that happens) and had to quickly make my way to the restroom and actually do just that – rest! By the time I was about half way through my treatments, I'd begun to realize I might be better served by figuring out ways to stay home and enjoy myself, and that I didn't have to run here, there, and everywhere trying to prove I was still alive.
Since all of this was happening during the summer, I began to look for ways to spend more time outdoors soaking up some sun and fresh air. I had all the time in the world (so to speak) all I needed was the ability to let go of my fears and relax.
My husband bought me a hammock and a comfy lawn chair providing me the wherewithal to wander out into our front yard when the mood struck and work on my tan. Okay, perhaps the word tan is a misnomer. While going through chemo I had the complexion of a blob of curdled tofu. If that sounds absolutely unappealing, it was meant to. My skin was so white I had to wear sunglasses even if it was cloudy!
Our house is graced with a six foot tall redwood privacy fence, so unless you are right up at the gate, it's impossible to see into the yard. While lazing in my hammock I could hear people walking by, cars buzzing along the street, and the occasional dog barking – but I was cozy as a bug in a rug – I couldn't see them and they couldn't see me. Or so I thought!
After about three weeks of making iced tea, grabbing my book and pillow, and heading for the hammock I decided it was time to expose a bit of my pasty skin to the elements. Since I didn't have a swimsuit (okay, I did have one but when I put it on and looked in the mirror it made me wish we were covered in fur), I decided there was no reason why I couldn't just sit out in my yard in my undies. After all, they are really the same thing as a bikini. Really! Okay, I was being lazy, but give me a break, I was on chemo and I was quite obviously not thinking straight.
The first few times I dressed in this delightful garb and sashayed out to the hammock everything went swimmingly. I spent a short time soaking up the sun, then went back into the house. No harm, no foul. When I read outside I can't wear my regular glasses because the glare blinds me, so back then I just popped on my trusty sunglasses. They were trusty only because they blocked the sun. Unfortunately, they weren't prescription, so I couldn't see my hand in front of my face while wearing them. Why, you ask, do I mention this? Well …
On one day in particular I'm talking on my cell phone to my youngest son, resplendent in my stylish getup when I notice someone at my gate. He also has sunglasses on so from a distance (and because, as I mentioned, I was legally blind) he looked like my other son, Chris. Well, he looked like Chris because he was about the right height and weight. Other than that, I'm pretty sure he looked nothing like Chris. So there I am, chatting away with Travis when I look up to see this nice young man smiling at me over the fence. I announce loudly enough for the neighbors three blocks away to hear, "Travis, I have to go, your brother is here!"
At this point I am smiling and thinking, "Jeez, how embarrassing to be sitting here in my underwear and have Chris show up!" Yeah, right, that would have been embarrassing! Then I begin wondering why Chris is wearing a brown uniform. And then, my poor, tired brain cells actually fire... and I realize I am sitting in my underwear in my front yard smiling at my UPS man. Even in that awkward setting I had the clarity of mind to think "From now on I need to make sure I check the 'No Signature Required' box!"
Let me just say this. There is absolutely no way to get out of a hammock gracefully when you are sporting only your underwear. If the hammock had been fabric rather than rope I'm pretty sure I would have tried to find a way to use it as cover. Unfortunately, large woven rope does very little in the way of helping to camouflage a lack of clothing. If I'd been able to dig a hole and crawl in, it would have been a vast improvement.
I yell to the gate, "Just a minute," as though that would somehow cause a curtain to magically appear, or at the very least provide me with some cover. Now blinded by both myopia and pure unadulterated mortification, I jump from the hammock and scurry inside my house. I slam the door and lean against it, my heart pounding out of my chest. I figure when all else fails, outwait them!
Finally, I muster enough courage to peek through the blinds. He's still there. On the one hand I'm relieved he hasn't run away screaming. On the other, I'm wondering how long I'll have to stay locked in my house before one of us dies of old age. Since he's got the advantage, I realize at some point I'm going to have to put my clothes on and march out the door to face him. I look heavenward and murmur, "And I thought breast cancer was bad!"
Eventually I made my way back out to the gate trying to appear very nonchalant, you know, like this sort of thing happens to me all the time. If I'd had one in my wardrobe I would have covered myself with a burka. I did the next best thing and put on so many clothes I nearly had to crawl back outside just from the sheer weight.
I signed for the package, gave the poor guy a sickly smile, and hightailed it back to the house. I'll never know if he was shocked, amused, stunned, or even breathing, because I was still wearing my trusty sunglasses, so thankfully, I couldn't see a thing.
