C for Crewcut

Years ago, when I lived in London, there was a very chic salon around the corner from our flat in Shad Thames. One day, on a whim, I stopped in for a haircut. The stylist, hip in her black clothes and asymmetrical haircut, asked me "What would you like?" In the mood for a change, I said, "Just do what you think would look best." Mind you, I had never met this girl before. She knew nothing about me, my life, my style, my hair. To this day, I don't know what possessed me to give her carte blanche with my tresses.

Midway through the cut, she took a phone call. I reached around and touched the back of my head and burst into tears. My cute, boring bob had been shorn completely - I had about 3 inches of razor cut hair left in the back.

I managed to keep the crying in check until I got home, where Michael claimed that he liked it and Jacob also showed support, but couldn't help pointing out that I should have expected such a result, given that the salon's name was "Man and Boy."

Currently, my "style" is even shorter, but is already starting to look a little scraggly around the ears. On Tuesday, I stopped by to give my old stylist in Murray Hill a look under the wig. She is convinced that, with her coloring help, I will be confident enough to go wig-free once the mercury hits the mid-90s in New York.

Meanwhile, the photo is the progress as of last week - note the grey "highlights" and seriously full brows. I am trying not to romanticize my six months off from maintenance appointments and be grateful that everything came back as it was before, but I can't help but wish that at least the Brazilian had been permanent.

Travel Advisory

Would you let this woman through customs?


Me neither.

Although the drains are out, the elastic band and sports bra combo is still on, making dressing for work in 90 degree weather a bit of a challenge. Add the wig on top of that, and it's one sweaty commute.

But what a difference a month makes - since these photos were taken, the brows are back, and the hair is thick enough that I won't even have to put sunblock on my scalp when we are hanging around outdoors celebrating the start of summer in Connecticut this weekend (no airports required!) My brother Matt, however, may want to keep the SPF3o handy:


Have a great long weekend!

Arch Enemies

At Wellesley, you could tell how stressed out I was by the thickness of my eyebrows. It wasn't that I neglected my grooming as my workload increased; on the contrary, plucking was a stress reliever. Tackling a paper on how Vaclav Havel's politics were foreshadowed in his plays seemed to go much more smoothly after a good session in front of the mirror with the Tweezerman.

My eyebrows disappeared completely just days after my surgery, only to sprout back again, seemingly overnight. I spent the last two weeks recovering in the country with nobody but Michael, Mom and the wild turkeys in the yard to see the regrowth process. Toward the end of last week, preparing to return to the city and to head back to work this week, I caught sight of myself in the mirror and wondered what those caterpillars were doing onto my forehead, which was the catalyst for me to go see somebody about this - although they are not back to their old length, they are coming in at full force thickness.

As a possessor of brows that are more Frida Kahlo than Marlene Dietrich, waxing, tweezing and threading have long been part of my grooming routine. Depending on how much time I have, my level of hirsute urgency and my budget, for the past 8 years I have visited various hair removal sites in the city - Shobha, Bliss, and the $10 quick threading place across the street from my apartment - for my brow maintenance. So I am used to working with different people, but this time, when the woman at the local day spa in Litchfield asked me what I wanted, I did not know what to say. I'd done this a thousand times, but never before with brows that were only just starting to grow back in. What if she is too rough and takes too much? What if the stubble is still too short for her to get a purchase on it? In the end, I opted for a "clean up, but not too thin."

Better, but in the bright bathroom lights back at home I realized they were still on the thick side. As I stood before the mirror, carefully plucking one hair at a time, checking for symmetry every few minutes, I found a familiar but different kind of comfort in the sharp pull of the tweezers. Like mascara wearing, shampoo buying, and bra fitting, eyebrow tweezing is yet one more mundane activity that brings me closer to normal, and I welcome it.

Defying Gravity

They're a little bruised and sleeping in a bra is no fun at all, but there are a lot of good things to be said for the new rack. They don't fall into my armpits when I lie on my back. I can no longer see the stretch marks earned from triathlon training two years ago and many years of less strenuous but equally scarring physical activity. Cleavage is possible without a bra. No one but me has to know if I am cold. And, of course, they are 100% cancer-free.

Positive Visualization

Back in October, when I was originally diagnosed, my mom and her group of wonderfully warm and supportive girlfriends got together for lunch. At the end of the lunch, Mary, a seven-year breast cancer survivor, mentioned that she had found visualization exercises to be helpful in getting through her surgery and treatments, and suggested that the women at the table all join hands and hold a positive image about me in their minds for several minutes.

First, Mom had to determine which image they should all focus on. She closed her eyes and thought for a minute or two. “What image do you see?” they asked when she opened them.

“I see Courtney coming out of the hospital carrying a piece of paper that says ‘Clean Bill of Health.’ She hands me the baby they were able to have…and I’m thin!”

It’s still too early to tell on visions 2 and 3, but we know at least the first part worked: my doctor called with my pathology report. I showed 100% response to the chemotherapy. There was no sign of the tumor when they dissected the breast tissue, and no evidence of cancer anywhere else in my breasts.

This means that even if any rogue cells escaped from the tumor at some point in the last few years (which itself is unlikely since there was no evidence of cancer in the lymph nodes, and no sign of cancer on the whole-body PET/CT scan), chances are excellent that the course of treatment I just went through took care of them. I will continue to be monitored carefully, but it is safe to assume that chances of a recurrence are minuscule.

It’s wonderful to say I no longer have cancer. And although the blog name will remain The Courtney Word, it will be easier every day to think of it without parentheses.