Letting go

Today I donated my wig from last years chemo days to a local group that refurbishes wigs for cancer patients going through chemo.  The wig has been meandering around my bedroom for a while.  When I first stopped wearing it back in the spring as my hair started to come back in I kept it in its box on top of my dresser for a while, feeling somehow reticent to put it away quite yet.  Then I packed it up and stored it in a nice shiny bag in the back of my closet, along with a bunch of hats I used to wear last year when I was bald.  I would see the wig box every now and then and wonder what to do with it.  I even took it out once in the summer, and put it on just to see how it felt now that I have hair, but was so freaked out by the memories of chemo that flooded back as I looked in the mirror that I quickly pulled it off and stored it back in its box.  

I had kind of a love-hate relationship with my wig.  In some ways I was so happy to be able to go out incognito when I wore it, because when it was on not everyone would immediately know I had BC.  But on the other hand, the damn thing itched and was so hot during all my hot flashes from the chemo that I really couldn't stand it by the end.  And then it took so long for my hair to grow back in and I was so anxious to just get on with my life that I started to see the wig as a symbol of my BC and started to really loathe the sight of it.  

I didn't know what to do with the darn thing.  I'm not the kind of person who likes to throw perfectly good things away; I'm a believer in recycling and re-purposing things that are perfectly useful for someone out there.  So, I held onto it.

And then last week, my friend Andra (a fellow BC survivor who helped me through so much last year) sent me an email about a local group she was working with and on the spur of the moment I sent them a message asking if they could use my wig.  They said yes, they'd love to take it.

Today I dropped it off and it was pretty uneventful.  The woman thanked me, took it, said it was in good shape and that was that.  I had somehow expected something more momentous after all the angst I had been feeling, but I really just felt good that it was out of my house and would be useful to someone else.

Done.  Moved on with that part of my life.  A nice feeling.  And of course, I had to celebrate in my now traditional post BC landmark fashion, by stopping off for a cup of Dunkin' Donuts (decaf these days 'cause the Tamoxifen gives me such crazy hot flashes which are exacerbated even more by caffeine).  

"Some of us think holding on makes us strong; but sometimes it is letting go." - Herman Hesse