I admit it. I have a problem with perfectionism.

No. I’m not perfect. I know that and I’m sure people around me know it too.

But for some reason, my head tells me if I can’t do it right, then don’t do it. I don’t want to fail. If I try and fail, then I won’t be perfect.

Sound familiar? Anyone? I’m sure I’m not alone in this, right?

The past few years I have learned to be much more forgiving…at least to those around me. Somehow I have figured out that others are not perfect and that putting that pressure on them made all of us fragile. Relationships can become quite strained when you expect those around you to be perfect. Especially your children and your spouse.

My relationship with my daughters has improved immeasurably (at least in my opinion) because I’m not showing them disappointment first. I am congratulating them on trying. Hopefully, as they keep trying they will continue to spread their wings and soar.

Somehow, however, I have failed to give myself that same kind of permission. I have slowly gotten a little better, but the reality is that I have not perfectly accepted that I am not perfect.

The last half of 2015 has offered me a lot of reasons to step out of my comfort zone and try things.

As scary as that is, I am realizing that it is scarier to have not tried than to have tried and failed.

As I sit here on this beautiful Christmas Eve morning I offer myself a present for the new year: the gift of Failure.

I will choose each morning to reopen the gift and see what it will offer me.

It isn’t really that cold in Texas even at Thanksgiving. But when you are bald, it just feels a little colder.

Here it was Thanksgiving Day 2003 and I felt like I resembled the turkey before it was put in the oven. I wish I could find pictures of my bald head. I have one that my dad and I took after he shaved his head in support. I will have to find that and share it with you. (Sounds like a good project for this Thanksgiving weekend).

Now that my head was bald it was time to figure out how to keep my head warm.

It was time to go wig shopping.

I took a friend with me to the wig shop. It was like taking your kids to Party City. I’m not sure if I am glad or disappointed that Instagram or SnapChat wasn’t around in those days. I know we had some good laughs at all of the different looks that I tried.

The fun thing about a wig is it is temporary. So if you are willing to have fun with it, you can completely change your look. I tried many different styles, but ultimately ended up with a cut that was just above shoulder length, but it was a brown/red color.

All my life my hair had been some shade of blond. From a true blond as a young child, to more of a dirty blond as I got older. So a dark brown/red wig was unexpected for me.

Since I was the Director of Accounting for a local school district, I usually wore the wig to work. I’m not sure how many of you have worn a wig before, but it really isn’t all that comfortable. At least I didn’t think so. By the time mid-afternoon came around I was ready to take it off and put on a baseball cap.

One day in the office there was a particularly stressful conversation going on outside my office. Tempers were starting to get the best of a couple of people. I decided the best way to defuse the situation was a little humor. I got up from my desk, and with as much sincerity as I could muster, I stood just outside my office door and with my hands on my “hair” I yelled “Y’all are making me pull my hair out!” and lifted my wig off my head. I held it there for a few minutes, and after the initial shock, everyone laughed. Except perhaps the lady standing at the front counter who had no idea what just happened.

The cost of one wig………. Between $100 to several hundred dollars.

The look on a person’s face who isn’t expecting to see a bald head and a hand full of hair…Priceless.

After the support group, I charged head first into what seemed like the best plan for ME.

On October 29, we headed back to the hospital to have the port put in. This was another “minor procedure” which means it is done as a day surgery.

All went well and I went home from the hospital that day with what felt like a disc protruding from my chest. To this day I can still remember the feeling. Two things I liked the LEAST were that it hurt to lay on my stomach now (and I had always slept on my stomach) and my girls could not lay their head on my chest. This was torture for a mom with two little girls. It seriously disrupted ‘snuggle time’.

November 6, 2003. And so it begins. CHEMO Round 1

It was a Thursday. I walked into a room that I would become too familiar with over the next six months. The nurses were an amazing group of people. Such a calming presence in the midst of the storm that is raging for everyone in the Chemo (or Infusion) Room.

I met Pat first. Pat had a smile that light the room up. She laughed, she smiled, she hugged. She knew everyone’s story in the room. I don’t think she has ever met a stranger. She has a way of putting you at ease even though you are terrified of what they are about to do to your body.

On a quick side note, I am so amazed at the fact that twelve years later, the same oncology nurses work in the Infusion Room. These people are so dedicated and so precious to those of us getting treatment. The fact that you can see the same face each time you go in for a treatment is comforting.

I had no idea what to expect from the first infusion. There are so many stories out there, but every cancer is different and every patient reacts differently to the drugs.

Not knowing what to expect, I scheduled the chemo treatment for Thursday and took Friday off too in case I was sick from the treatment.

I was “lucky.” I did not have many of the side effects that can come from some of the toxic drugs that they poured into my veins. I was drowsy for a few days, but by Monday I was back at work.

I’m pretty sure everyone was surprised to see me there. If you remember from my earlier posts, I had only begun working at this position in August. Now here it was November and they had only really been around me for 2 months since I spent most of October having day surgeries and recovering and working from home.

I was truly blessed to be surrounded by a group of people who trusted my abilities and supported me with such loyalty.

As I mentioned earlier, my treatments were to be every 3 weeks. Since I started on November 6, a Thursday, my next treatment would be the week of Thanksgiving.

I managed to work everyday without any side effects from the first round of chemo. This was going to be a piece of cake! I may have been a little bit more tired, but I had not lost my appetite and I was able to focus and think to do my job.

Treatment number 2 was the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. My blood work showed that my white and red blood cell counts were still good and I was able to stay on track with the infusion schedule.

I had the treatment, stopped for lunch on the way home and got ready to spend Thanksgiving at my mother-in-laws. The girls spent the night with my mother-in-law so I could rest from the treatment and we planned to go over the next day.

When I woke up Thanksgiving morning, clumps of hair were falling out. It had started the day before, but it was exceeding obvious that morning that I was not going to have any hair left by the end of the day.

My husband and I sat out on our back porch and he shaved my head. Happy Thanksgiving.