A New Journey Begins

A journey begins

The temperature dipped into the single digits, but I refused to sleep in the house. It had been about a month since I concluded the wedding photography season and cleaned out the apartment. Moving my dog Monty and me into the Jeep Wrangler for the foreseeable future. And Mother Nature was testing our limits.

I wore a complete set of long underwear, thick wool socks, and a nifty fleece hoodie hat with a built-in neck gaiter. Looser than a traditional knit hat and one of the best parting gifts I received. Monty was curled up at my feet, and we were both tucked under a down comforter. It was far warmer than winter camping in a tent, and with the 4-inch thick memory foam mattress I cut to fit the custom-built sleeping platform inside the Jeep — quite comfy. Though, reality hit like a sucker punch when I desperately needed to pee.

Parked outside my sister’s then home on Maine’s coast, it was shaping up to be a postcard New England Christmas. There was fresh snow, a stunning sunrise, and frost in the corners of all the windows. Well, maybe the ice was on the inside of the windows…and the roof? I wondered where all the water would go when it melted, but the rising sun’s rays shone through the thin prisms. Turning the inside of the Jeep a warm shade of orange. There was nothing toasty about the moment but a beautiful and unique way to start the day!

Monty nor myself wanted anything to do with poking our noses out from underneath the warm cocoon of fleece and down. It didn’t take more than a few chilly nights for Monty to learn we now slept UNDER the blankets. Before moving into the Jeep, he preferred his own space above the covers or a separate bed altogether. Additionally, it didn’t take him long to learn to stay under those toasty layers till after Mom prodded him at least ten times to come out.

The urgency to use a bathroom had grown. By that point, I picked up a few tricks to preserve as much warmth as possible. I kept the winter boots tucked by the door and easy to slip on. My jacket draped over the back of the driver’s seat. Hat and gloves were tucked under us during the night, warmed by our body heat. Lastly, Monty’s collar and leash hung by the driver’s side passenger door, which was also our mobile home’s “front door.”

My sister’s family lived in a rural location; therefore, no harm in peeing in the woods. I intentionally parked the Jeep to ensure a little privacy for myself. The last thing I wanted was to bare my bum to any member of the family who might be out and about for whatever the reason.

Of course, we could have joined the rest of the family inside. There was plenty of room. However, I was committed, and it was too early to go soft on the plan. Despite the cold nights and even colder mornings, embracing something different from the norm and sticking with it despite the discomfort felt, empowering. Doing hard things often leads to incredible life experiences.

A few weeks earlier, I believed I lost my marbles. I had packed up the last of my belongings and did a final walkthrough of the best apartment I’d ever called home. Beautiful space with mountain views, a private hiking trail to a reservoir, and lovely landlords. What was I thinking, giving all that up to live full-time in a box on wheels?

~

The holidays came and went, and I found myself seeking refuge from winter with family in Central New York, not far from where I grew up. I wasn’t sure where to begin, so I went home. For nearly a decade, my home was Vermont, but at that moment, home was a place to park where I felt safe and, more importantly — warm. My parents’ place was perfect.

I needed to get my bearings. The Jeep was transformed from a daily driver into a mobile adventure home, packed with gear and essentials for something big. Though, how was this dramatic change in lifestyle going to help me become a modern-day Dorothea Lange? She did use her vehicle as a mobile home base while working in the field. However, at that moment, the only similarity between myself and my idol was grit, persistence, and living out of a box on wheels.

The “plan” was to begin connecting with people impacted by breast cancer, then meet with them for an interview and capture a few lifestyle portraits to publish with their story on my website. It all seemed simple enough. Yet, I still had no idea where to begin. My resourceful step-mom suggested using Facebook. Why didn’t I think of that, say, three months ago? Feeling somewhat silly, I hopped online and posted my wish to collect stories from people impacted by cancer and tagged childhood friends who still lived in the area.

Through an old childhood friend who lived in our neighborhood growing up, I was connected with a breast cancer survivor named Christie. She is a Pennsylvania native who moved to the Finger Lakes of New York with her husband, daughter and adorable pup. Her family has a beautiful home overlooking the lake I grew up on, about 40 minutes east of my parents’ house.

Pulling into their driveway, I stared across the frozen waters of Owasco Lake. It reminded me of how fortunate I was to grow up there. This region of New York was gorgeous, with glacial-formed rolling hills and lakes tucked amongst the valleys in between. As a teenager, I daydreamed about moving away, but today, it felt lovely to return.

Christie welcomed me into her home as though we’d been old friends. Offering a cup of tea, we settled into the purpose of my visit. Despite the prevalence of cancer, it’s one of the more challenging topics to discuss candidly. The elephant in the room and often why people choose to keep their experience private. My heart was humbled by Christie’s willingness to share her story with me that day.

One of the challenges for those impacted by cancer is losing control over important aspects of life and their bodies. Unlike Larissa, who was very apprehensive the first time her head was shaved for chemotherapy, a new look was within Christie’s comfort zone. What was not — being fitted for a wig.

Larissa had a small room where she kept items like wigs, scarves, and mementos that empowered her to feel pretty despite the impact of cancer on her physical appearance. Christie was not ready to embrace the idea of wearing a wig. A cute short hairdo — sure!

She held off on the appointment until one week before her first chemotherapy treatment, leaving her no choice but to lean in and do the one thing she did not want to do. On the morning of her wig-fitting, Christie received a welcomed surprise. Two of her closest friends had learned the date of the appointment and showed up at her doorstep. They were not going to let her go through this on her own.

Having sat with Christie for about an hour, I saw a driven woman, unafraid to do what had to be done. However, she did not want to do what had to be done.

She recalls the day:

I am not going in there. I’m not doing this. The car was running, it was cold, and all of a sudden, I grabbed my purse and went running into the shop. I don’t know what came over me; it was not like me. I just got out and SLAMMED the door.

I walked in and had this attitude with the lady. I was just like, “Show me what you’ve got.” I was miserable and acted like it was her fault I was there. I was so mad I was there but knew I had to do it.

After a while, I didn’t know what changed my attitude, but we were laughing. We were all trying on the sillier-looking wigs, making light of the whole thing. We settled down and picked a handful to try on for real. I put one of the wigs on, started crying, hyperventilating, and began having an anxiety attack.

I can’t do this! I CAN’T do this! I CAN do this! Suck it up! JUST DO IT!

She did it! They found her a beautiful wig that matched her natural hair color and later proved to fool even those who knew she lost her hair from chemotherapy. Despite finding the perfect match, Christie would never come to find comfort in wearing the wig:

I always had a problem with it. I put it in my closet, and it sat on the floor for a very long time. But one day, I had to put it on. I had to go to work, and I felt ridiculous wearing it. They knew I lost my hair, and now all of a sudden, I was walking around with this beautiful silky mane. I felt so uncomfortable.

She later understood why. Christie explained how she never felt a need to manage a routine around her hairstyle. She was not one to own hair products and only kept a hairdryer on hand for those days when it was too cold to leave the house with a wet head of hair. She shared, “This wig was just so perfectly done; you couldn’t mess it up.” Wearing the wig was not an honest reflection of herself.

I now have a sick sense of humor about that stupid wig. I used to call it the dead squirrel. I would get in the car, take it off, and toss it into the backseat, then you’d walk past and look and think, OH MY GOD, it looks like a dead squirrel. Just this furry little thing, in a ball, in the back of my car — I HATED that thing.

For Christie, her husband, and her daughter, their story and how breast cancer impacted their lives continues to unfold. They relive the experience every time she goes in for a scan, knowing they are looking for cancer and hoping they come back with positive news.

People say I was graceful (in how she handled her experience), but I had no choice to get through it the way I got through it. I had a child watching my every move.

Through it all, especially in the lowest of moments, being a mother played a significant role in Christie’s ability to dig deep and the will to get through. While she managed to maintain as normal of a life as possible for her family, it did change her perspective on life. Life is to be celebrated and lived regardless of cancer.

We work double hard for something I hope we both get to enjoy someday… Stockpiling money in retirement. I get it, it’s important, and we want to be able to retire. We want to live a good life and travel like we always talked about, but at the same time, why couldn’t we spend a little of that money NOW and travel with our daughter while we are healthy?

I could feel the weight of her journey lighten and the sense of time lost. Our visit was full of tears, laughter, and quiet moments of reflection. I witnesed her face soften with relief as she spoke about her experience. Christie hadn’t had (at that time) the opportunity to sit with a cup of tea and talk out loud about what her mind, body, and family had endured that year.

We were wrapping up my visit when she remembered one last thing, a gift to herself and her family. She left me for a moment and returned with a small wooden box where they planned to store written notes about their bucket list dreams. She meant it when she said she wished they’d enjoy the fruits of their labor while they were all healthy. You never know where the road will lead you, so why not enjoy all that you can while you can, in the present time.