My younger son considered the view as I raised the scarf with which I cover the near-naked skin of my scalp. There are but a few wispy strands of fluff and the stubborn remnants of the Tintin-esque fringe with which to cover my baldness. I am not one of those fortunate females on whom it looks like a style choice. Knowing Alex fairly well after a lifetime of being ‘Mum’, I could see both the unspoken grief as he registered the lingering effects of chemotherapy and the twitch of amusement.
We went with the latter.
“You look like an orangutan…”
“Thanks.”
“I like orangutans,” he added, hopefully, as if that might appease my wounded maternal vanity.
Image: Pixabay
“He’s right,” said his older brother the following day, critically assessing the image on the screen during a video call. The son with whom I shared a love of the Discworld books said, “You should say ‘Ook’ more often.”
According to the medics, the hair loss was inevitable, the loss of my voice is probably not down to laryngitis and the excess of hot, red flesh is not to be blamed on overindulgence in festive fare. They can probably all be blamed on the main vein to the heart being compressed. I believe they call it SVCS… which I assume means something along the lines of ‘squished vein causing swelling’ but in posher, Latin terminology.
The trouble is, I cannot disagree with my sons’ assessment… the mirror tells me that it is fair and as none of my menfolk seem inclined to offer any strategically dishonest compliments, I have to accept that the days when I could look in the mirror without cringing are long since gone and an ‘ook’ may be all I can manage.
It is yet another one of those instances of ‘letting go’ that you stumble across in circumstances like these. And it is surprising how the mind wants to work to deal with the idea. My first intimation of the whole ‘letting go’ thing was realising I would have to say goodbye to all those fictional characters, both read and written, that I have kept in my heart and mind for so long. Now, it takes very little to realise that it was not fictional people that were really bringing the tears to my eyes, but I was not ready to deal with anything more painful at that point. The brain is clever at such subterfuge.
The dog was no better… she still worries the life out of me, because how do I explain? Who will be there for her when I finally go? Knowing full well that she will be very well looked after and will understand what is going on far better than, say, my little granddaughters…
So, bit by bit, you start letting go of the illusions too. And it makes it very hard when others cling to them. I know the statistics… they are wide ranging averages and people do novel things with ‘expectations’ every day. That barely comes into the equation.
But letting go of the things and the roles by which you have defined yourself, that is an interesting and revealing process. That I may have to stop being a ‘carer’ at some point and become a ‘caree’… but that, regardless of what I am able to actually do, I will always be a mother… it shows you what really matters, and what is just a definition, a label applied by both self and society to pin down just a small part of who you are.
My self-image is being challenged daily. I can no longer walk or bathe my dog, for example. Changing the bedding used to take minutes and now takes most of the morning… even with breaks in between. Housework is a major undertaking and I doubt if I will ever be able to mow the lawn again. Even in this tiny flat I am gasping for breath as I dust. Learning to accept help and rely on others does not come easily. Learning that maybe the housework never mattered quite so much as I thought is even harder.
Then you get to wondering about who and what you really are. The body is just a collection of organic components, put together and lent to us by Nature. We use it for a while, like any other vehicle, then when it has outlived its usefulness, its component parts are broken down and returned to earth.
I believe that the ‘driving force’ of that vehicle is not part of it but of another order of being altogether. Look at how we can observe ourselves, often from several ‘steps’ back from everyday consciousness, watch the layers unravel and unpeel… and while I expect most of those layers to dissolve with the body, I am convinced that something survives, especially after having watched an accident unfold as a ‘ghost of myself’ many years ago.
Life, death and the bits in between… we know very little about what any of them actually are, except in physical terms, and yet we accept these amorphous definitions as readily as we do far more concrete concepts. But I wonder what each of us would come up with, were we to ask ourselves, in the unjudged silence of the innermost heart, “Who, or what am I really?”
Other than an orangutan, of course.
Sue Vincent's Daily Echo 
A bit of humor helps in dealing with the seriousness of the situation. Who we are is something, I think, are different persons to different people. To ourselves, we measure ourself with what was most important in our lives. I would say for myself that I was a good mom and a loving daughter.
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Both exceedingly importnat things to be.
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Yes, you’re right. 💗
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I like orangutan 🙂 sending you my love, Sue ❤
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IThanks, Lady Lee. rather like them myself, but they are not necessarily what I would ike to look like 😉
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You write beautifully, sending love 🙂
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Thank you 🙂
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The Orangutan was a wizard that had got caught in some morphic resonance which changed him into an ape, which he came to enjoy and stayed in that shape (although when he got hiccups he kept changing and at one stage was a shaggy red deckchair I think?). Sending very gentle hugs. Xxxx
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I know the books well, Christine. At leastthe librarian could both reach and read the more obscure wisdom in the library.
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ook! Yes I do love the books. I like the idea that we are more than just a simple collection of cells. I was also thinking about the idea that all of our atoms have changed every seven years. I wish I could help… X
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Even our physical form is in a constant state of change, so what we are, we were not, even a short time ago 🙂
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Yes, changing, in flux xx
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Huge hugs, Sue! You are definitely more than an Orangutan! 💜💜💜
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Butthey are right about the look 😉
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😀
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So much truth and beauty in this sentence, “So, bit by bit, you start letting go of the illusions too. And it makes it very hard when others cling to them.”
All of us begin to resemble prunes at some point. At least you resemble a mammal. 😊
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Only vaguely, these days 😉
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I love that part where you speak of us being part of Nature’s lending scheme, Sue.
When I get a little closer to returning to the library myself, so to speak, I know I will be returning home…
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Knowing I am getting close to returning at the moment, that is a comforting thought.
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I am beginning to feel that way too, Sue…
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I hope you have many more years looking forward to that return yet, Jaye 🙂
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I hope I do, Sue but have really made the most of my 77 years!
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I’d give a fair bit to be able to say the same 😉
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I know, but still hoping and praying for a miracle!
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That would be nice and I am not ruling it out 😉
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Neither are we, Sue!
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🙂
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So sad.
Hugs
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Hugs, David.
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Humour gets us through a lot. I want to die laughing. 🤣 Orangutans are very cute. Sending much love to you and your family. 😍
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I may yet do so, if my sons are allowed anywhere near 😉
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I love orangutans, too. Such beautiful and gentle creatures. Just like you, Sue. You will always be beautiful. It’s what’s inside that matters.
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Thank you… but the amount of outside still registers with vanity 😉
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Quentin Crisp wrote something along the lines of ‘after the first month , the dust doesn’t get any thicker.’ It’s true – I’ve watched it (- well, not actually watched, but spotted it in passing. That’s the only time my housework gets done; when I notice the dust.)
I’ve always wondered why – as a species – we are so concerned about the world getting hotter – or colder when the sun wears out, or running out of resouces, or imploding in a reverse big bang… if we don’t know somewhere in our subconscious that we will still be around, somehow.
Another TP fan – one of the greats. Immortal.
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I was an admirer of many of Mr Crisp’s pronouncements… only I think it was a matter of years for the dust…which would mean leaving it that long in a purely experimental fashion 🙂
For the same reason fear of death itself (not the manner of it) has always puzzled me. I will either continue… or be so perfectly erased I will know nothing of it at all. Either works for me.
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An Orangutan? Maybe. But also an extremely talented writer who has the gift of bringing people together with her writing and making them smile even during unprecedented times.
Hugs, Sue.
xx
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Thank you, Hugh, that’s a lovely thing to say 🙂 xx
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You make me laugh. And you make me pause. If I was to answer this question about you, I would think in addition to the Orangutan, you would be a thinker, a writer, a creator. Which, by the way, none of which require hair-but spirit. ❤️
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Just spirit is enough for anyone, I believe…all else flows from there ❤
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Reblogged this on Musings on Life & Experience and commented:
Sue is learning to accept her new appearance and be philosophical about it.
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Your voice is NOT silenced, Sue, but as strong as ever. Maybe you think you look like an orangutan, but a very complex, loving and lovable one!
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Apes are complex creatures 🙂
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I’ve learned to accept each new wrinkle and stiffness. You’re right. Somehow things take longer. I can no longer use the stairs as my trick knees cause a problem. I’ll accept the years I’m allowed but don’t plan for ten years from now anymore. I’ve learned to accept each day as a gift. Thank you for sharing your life with us, Sue. ❤ — Suzanne
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Each day is a gift. When we are yunger, we still have that illusion of immortality for a while… but none of us know for w=how long Nature lends us life ❤
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I am grateful for your transparency, it teaches me acceptance and detachment in the moment.
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Thank you, Paul. Why should any of us seek to hide, when life is something we all share? 🙂
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Absolutely Sue 🙂
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🙂
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Hmmm. I prefer to think of you in terms that Stuart used when I was there….. a goddess for whatever you look like on the outside, I know a little of your heart and soul. And for that I am truly greatful.
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To be fair, he was thinking of the Willendorf figure when that conversation happened 😉 But thank you, Gary. x
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Remember that you will live on in the people you touched, perhaps the person who read just one blog and came away with an idea that made them think, or which helped things come more into focus.
Remember you have friends you have never met who are grateful for the help, the ‘leg up’ you have given them.
Remember that there are all sorts of people who have let chinks of you into their lives.
Also remember that, like the beautiful actress in the black and white film, there is something of you that doesn’t really age, there are bits of you which are forever young and glamourous and triumphant. And thanks to the interconnected world we live in where blogs are shared and cascade far beyond our recall, there are people who will read your blog and not even realise you are not still with us, because for them you are.
So to somebody ‘looking down on you from above’ you are the view seen through a Kaleidoscope, impossibly fragmented, no single bit making a great deal of sense, but to that one ‘somebody’ looking through the proper eyepiece, beautiful, connected, and making perfect, scintillating, sense.
Or, to put it more succinctly, ‘ook’
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Now I know whay Tallis is a poet.
Thank you Jim,such words apply to every single one of us and we need to be reminded of that sometimes.
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There are no ordinary people! 🙂
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I know 🙂
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🙂
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Orangutan’s have charm and character, both of which you, dear Sue, have in spades. But it is not the outside that defines us, it’s what’s inside that makes us who we are, and I for one, am so glad to know you.
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Thank you, Di… friends made through the blog have been such a blessing these past months…especially as I can still talk to you through my fingers, even if the rest of the voice goes! 🙂
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and I will always respond Sue. Hugs to Ani ❤
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I know ❤
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I love orangutans too, they are so happy. Life is about keeping your sense of humour 💜 and I have to accept you know what’s what and not argue the toss with you 💜💜💜💕
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❤
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always a mother – what a noble calling…
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None better 🙂
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or more important…
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We all know at some level we are going to die of course, but even many people in your position refuse to accept it. I admire both your candor and your courage. You will certainly always be alive for me. I expect the Oracle will find your spirit useful as well. (K)
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Accepting mortality is no harder than accepting a change of season. And I hope that what is left will add to the leaf-litter from which a new season may grow. 🙂
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Sue, I’m sure you’re right about our “driving force”. This is touching and insightful writing as always. Sending love. ❤
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Thank you, Betty. I know there is more to us than we generally take note of ❤
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I love that the boys go the humor route, though I’m sure they know when to be serious as well. I just read a Vonnegut quote that I loved: “‘And how should we behave during this Apocalypse? We should be unusually kind to one another, certainly. But we should also stop being so serious. Jokes help a lot. And get a dog, if you don’t already have one.’
Kurt Vonnegut – The Idea Killers, 1984
I think you’ve clicked all the boxes here. ❤
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The dog also helps… she too has a real sense of humour and is usually sat on one of the boys when they are here ❤
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Sending love Sue. You are still Sue. Don’t forget that, no matter what outward appearance you see in the mirror. ❤
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Possibly ‘more’ Sue than ever at themoment 😉 ❤
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And that is just fine ❤
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*hugs* and puppy kisses from Lilie and Logan.
For the record, “The Librarian” has always been a favourite Discworld character of mine…
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Thank you… I’m sort of fond of the Librarian too 🙂
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❤ – Oakley and I did a sing-along-howl of protest over poor Ani's grooming struggles. 😀 I try to imagine any orangutan who could ever dance like you, in heels and gracefully, no matter what your hair looks like or how many times you say "ook" – :D. But yes, it occurs to me that when such things strike, it's like having to grow old gracefully, but being forced to do it all in a rush. There are so many things I had to let go of during my life, due to illness or hits that well, while I am still living, still some things I just cannot physically/mentally do anymore – no mater how hard I try, etc., and well – in the end, I found, there were so many various versions of my identity I thought 'was me', when in actuality, all it was the real me, doing physical actions, in material world, in order to 'express' the me of me. And once I figured that out, well, there is always something, somewhere, to do, that works with 'who you are' physically, just now and sometimes, when you can't 'do' alot? Your job IS to BE the loving and gracious caree – so those who love you get the opportunity to express their love of ever-growing but never changing, really, You through the 'doing' ways you have done for them – :). ❤
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Yes, it does feel very much like having to grow old all in one go… and without warning. Not an easy task to accept that and all that comes with it, but is is something that needs to be accepted, as you say, with what grace we can muster. ❤
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For a moment I read the, ‘ unjudged silence’ as ‘unhinged silence’! 😀 … I like the physical body only being a loaner bit, too. 🙂
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Both might well do 😉
Well… why should we expect to be differen from the rest of Nature? We too will be recycled 🙂
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Oh Sue. Humour and tears… xx
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The only way to live 😉 xx
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My nana always used to say, ‘If you don’t laugh, you’ll cry,’ and the older I get the more I realise what she meant xx
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Laughter is serving us well at the moment 😉
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Please don’t think I’m a crank, but painting some iodine on your skin every day may boost your immune system so it works the way it’s supposed to work. Massive hugs.
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I’ll look into anything that might help 🙂
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You can get iodine in Betadine. I think you have that in the UK? Or you can buy the pure iodine online. The brand I get is Lugols because it was the ‘first’. I use a cotton bud [ear bud? stick with cotton wool at either end?] like a paintbrush. Dip it into the iodine and then paint it onto your skin but be careful as it will stain clothing while wet. If it’s absorbed into the skin within 8 hours you know your body needs it. In perfectly healthy people it takes about 24 hours.
I was told about iodine after I had my own brush with cancer [not by a medico]. I’m now at ten years and counting. I have no proof it was the iodine, but helping the immune system keep me healthy seems like a reasonable thing to me.
-massive hugs-
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Thank you for that. I think it would have to be the iodine… never heard f the other stuff.
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Ah, it’s a topical antiseptic type thing we have here. The Lugols is probably much better anyway.
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You’re just dangling that image there, Sue, to tempt us. Not that I need any more tempting. Can’t wait to be able to witness (and marvel at!) this latest transformation… Until then, I’m sending some virtual hugs… X
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Believe me, Graeme…it is not a pretty sight 😉
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Your practicality mixes well with your heart, and humor. Orangutans are beautiful animals, you know. So are you.
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My granddaughters don’t mind the ‘new look’ granny… so I am not complaining too loudly 😉
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Kids are honest and accepting. As long as your grandchildren don’t mind, the others don’t really matter. 💕
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Exactly ❤
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😍
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