Strangely Normal

Not, of course, that I've ever been "normal" in any sense of the word. Still, it never fails to surprise me how easily I can unintentionally slip across the line into fooling people that I'm not sick.

Over the weekend, thanks to an overcast but moderately warm day, I went bare-headed to the Pride festivities here in town. (I usually cover my head in public as much for sun protection as to control shock value - I really am completely bald. But it's more comfortable, and breezier, without.) Perhaps I should have expected it in such a flamboyant and exhibitionist crowd, but not a single person took my rather untraditional haircut as evidence of illness. In fact, one eager admirer wanted to take my picture; a handful of others commented approvingly on my "bad-ass" look. Too bad I didn't pick up a leather vest while I was there to enhance my credentials.

At work, I've left a lot of folks hopelessly gender-confused: I've been greeted in passing as "sir" too many times to count, and my undoubtedly feminine-voiced "good morning, how are you doing?" reply as our paths cross leaves strange looks hovering in the air behind me. An equal number of folks glance in my office at a shaved head in uniform and knock, "Excuse me, sir...?" only to turn red with embarrassment as a clearly female individual welcomes them in. (I'm careful to be as good-natured as possible with everyone to put them at ease - particularly with the really junior folks, who tend to be the most mortified at their mistake. Which, perhaps, I can understand: we suffered through countless late-night "Ma'am not sir" pushups at OCS as corrective action for accidental sleep-deprived gender mixups in address.) The older, balding gentlemen at work are excited to find an unexpected point of commonality with a relatively young female; the females are uniformly excited to see a military woman who's shaved her head and gotten away with it. (I think we all secretly aspire to be G.I. Jane, but the rather vague Coast Guard regulations class female head-shaving as a potentially "radical" move and thus left to command discretion.)

But beyond this most obvious sign of my treatment (the lumpy port and scar in my upper chest usually hide under clothing), which, surprisingly to me, few openly associate with cancer suffering, I seem to be unwittingly deceiving people into thinking I'm not sick at all, or that my side effects are relatively minor. Perhaps they're just being polite, or embarrassed to speak up. Perhaps I'm too energetic and determined. Normally, of course, I'm overjoyed for people to think I'm not sick. It gets past all the uneasiness and just lets me be me. Nothing's more awkward than someone clasping your hand in both of theirs as they sniff out, "I'm so glad you're making it ok. I'm praying for you. You know, I had an uncle who just died of cancer..."

Where it becomes a challenge is when I feel I can't live up to the expectations being set, expectations perfectly reasonable for a well person but sometimes a challenge when treatment and side effects get in the way. Often I fend it off with directness, with humor: being asked to attend a meeting on a hospital day, I pointed out candidly (despite the company of several senior personnel) that as I attended chemo treatment on Thursdays and Fridays, I'd have to squeeze it in during the first half of the week. But it's quite a different matter when I'm expected at a meeting - indeed, one of the key players - and I'm too sick in the bathroom to make it on time. Or when I can't concentrate on an important conversation because I'm in too much pain. Or when I get exhausted only halfway through a work day stretching from 0600 to 1700. Or, most maddening to me, when I just can't get everything done, because I'm only at work three days a week and just can't muster up enough focus on my recovery days to work from home.

The surprises pop up elsewhere, too. Admitting that I can't taste the delicious food I'm sharing with friends or family. Needing to curl up for a catnap in the other room like a little kid in the middle of the day. Taking a break outside or in the car to fight down a wave of nausea. I want so desperately to be "normal", to blend in as a non-sick person; the lapses are frustrating, the visible lapses so much the more so.

But perhaps I can take comfort in knowing that I never actually was all that normal to begin with.