Connie E. Curry
“But, your hair will grow back.”
Connie E. Curry endured this comment daily from her family and friends as her hair slowly grew a ½ inch a month.
Give Me Back My Glory leads readers on a raw, yet therapeutic romp through her battle with breast cancer. From her diagnosis to reconstruction, readers will discover her fright but yet humor, and the importance of relationships with doctors, sometimes with surprising results. Laugh when she shares about her daughter grabbing the cheap hair clippers and exclaiming, “Mom, this is for all the times you cut my bangs crooked.”
Over 200,000 women are diagnosed with breast cancer each year, and most fear it and crave information beyond pamphlets or cold Internet data, as do their support givers. Give Me Back My Glory educates with laughter, tears and inspiration.
Curry, having a background in the medical field, addresses diagnosis, surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, sexuality, weakness and courage in a wholesome yet realistic way. Give Me Back My Glory is particularly relevant to working moms; those struggling with midlife, menopause, parenting and marriage along with breast cancer.
As the recipient of the James Thurbor Humor Writing Contest, a columnist, working mother, and freelance writer, Curry hopes, through relating her raw and realistic experience, women will take charge of their life and their illness with a positive attitude thus speeding the healing of mind and body.
Connie E. Curry grew up and continues to reside in Delaware, Ohio with her husband David. A mother of three and grandmother to one, she writes for the local newspaper, The Delaware Gazette. She volunteers for Habitat for Humanity as a writer for their newsletter and is a freelance writer for various magazines.
She has won many writing contest including The James Thurber Humor writing contest and the B + T makeover through Silpada Designs where she is currently employed.
After retiring from emergency medical services, she continued her love of writing and has been published in Country Living Magazine, Official publication of Electric Cooperative, Reunion Magazine, Grit Magazine, Shotgun Sports and Off Lead Magazine.
Several of her humor stories appear in published short story collections, including “I Wanna Be Sedated”, “Dance of the Chickens”, “Chicken Chisme: The Fine Art of Gossiping”, and “Chicken Fluff and Other Stuff”. “Romancing The Soul”, another short story collection, Curry also contributed to.
Graham, her Golden Retriever and Betty, her Maine Coon cat can always be found at her feet as she writes, turning words into stories.
She is a member of the Write Life Writing Group, Delaware Writing Group and Ohio Writer.
Curry’s love of Volkswagens enabled her to buy and become involved in the restoration of her 1974 Volkswagen Bug. Her first publication in “Women with Wheels” told the funny tale about this project and validated the passion she has of vintage cars. Her Bug is her pride and joy and she loves showcasing it in numerous parades, waving and celebrating life and the joy of people.
Please click on the following link to visit my guestbook; GiveMeBackMyGlory
But if any woman has long hair, it is glory to her. My sister read this to me out of the Bible, Corinthians, chapter 11, verse 15. Tina recited it, sympathizing with my emotional worries about losing my hair. It was true. We women feel glorified with pretty hair.
Christmas was over. Decorations were put away, there were charge cards to pay, and my hair was thinning.
Shelley, my niece, had told me about a hair product called Bed Head after she saw my new short haircut.
“Aunt Connie, you should get Bed Head,” she suggested after seeing my new short “do.” “This girl I work with uses it, and it makes your hair spike up really cool.”
“Bed Head? What a crazy name,” I said. “OK, I’ll look for it.”
I needed a stronger hair gel to get my hair to spike out the way I was wearing the new short style De had cut. It had grown, and the top was a little too long. I put off getting it cut. “Isn’t that like paying to put a new roof on a house when you know the storm is going to blow the house down?” I said to many of my friends.
Each day since my very first chemo, I would feel my hair and tug on it, looking for signs of it falling out. When I bathed, I would check the drain as the water washed away, always looking for clumps of hair.
I knew I still had a few weeks to enjoy it, but I was obsessed with worry and hoping hair wouldn’t be in my hands as I continued tugging it. My treatments were three weeks apart. The nurse had forewarned me that it would start thinning out a week prior to my second treatment.
On week two after my chemo, like clockwork, it began, just like the nurse had told me. For some silly reason, I started thinking I might be different, and an unusual case. I actually thought I would be one of the lucky ones who would not suffer hair loss. I should have known better. I noticed I didn’t need to shave my legs as often. My unwanted chin hairs were gone.
People would tell me that they had friends or relatives who didn’t lose hair from cancer treatments. I knew those chemo patients were probably being treated with different kinds of chemo.
Adriamycin, the hair-thief-heartless-bastard-chemo, was pumped through my veins, and its reputation was brutal.
January 4, 2005, was a day that stands out in my mind as much as the day I was told I had breast cancer. The warnings I had heard from other cancer survivors were true.
“The toughest thing to deal with is when your hair falls out.”
That Tuesday, on the fourth, I was preparing for work. I got up feeling good and eager to take on a new day. I had just bought the Bed Head product. I even mumbled to myself as I stood in the drugstore the day before, thinking how expensive it was.
Why am I wasting my money on this when I know my hair is leaving me any day?
I dressed for work and poured another cup of coffee. I sang with the radio, as Brooks and Dunn were playing.
I walked into the bathroom; I combed my hair and put the Bed Head in my hands to spread across my hair. I rubbed it in, spiking parts of my hair to give areas the defined look. It looked great. I looked chic.
