In her no-holds-barred column, Irish singer, actress and TV star Linda Nolan speaks candidly about living with cancer, a disease that has also struck sisters Anne and Coleen and took the life of their sister Bernie. This week, Linda takes the heart-breaking decision to shave what was left of her hair off, but is inspired by the Olympian’s spirit since his terminal diagnosis
It’s gone. I am officially bald once more. My hair was coming out in tufts, so I spoke to the girls – all of them – and made the decision. Then very quietly I got my hairdresser round for the shave off and immediately went to the park cafe for a cup of tea.
I’ve amazed myself. It’s not been easy, but easier this time. The first time I was traumatised by losing my hair; now we’re on bald do number five, I seem to be able to accept it. It was a relief, a way for me to take control. Even if I now look like a bowling ball.
Acceptance. It seems to be the key, not just with incurable cancer, but anything painful in life.
I was devastated to read about Sir Chris Hoy’s terminal cancer diagnosis this week. When someone so physically fit and strong is told they have just two to four years to live, it seems particularly shocking. But of course cancer doesn’t work that way.
Now it’s his incredible mental strength which seems to be helping him. With the support of his psychologist, it sounds like he’s trained his mind to live in the moment as much as he can, and to accept death is natural. He seems to have rigorously drilled himself to grasp that sense of perspective with all the focus he’d have used as a sportsman.
Now I’m no Olympian (and you need a brain in order to train it!) so I’m in awe of his approach.
I completely stand by trying to live in the moment – I’ve tried to repeat that mantra to myself, too, since being told my cancer was incurable in 2017. But I’ve found it’s important to allow myself the slack to have bad days, as well. For me, accepting my death as part of the natural course is still very difficult. It remains frightening.
Finding support from a psychologist though is something I completely agree is essential when you’re living with this situation. I’ve been talking to mine for 20 years.
It’s such a strange relationship in many ways – she knows everything about me, I think she’s saved my life at times, while I know very little about her. I couldn’t even tell you if she was married. It’s remained a professional patient relationship all this time, yet I couldn’t do this without her. For me it is about having someone to talk to who isn’t a friend or relative, completely without judgment or fear of burdening someone, who I can say anything to. That’s the crucial bit.
The truth is we all need to develop our own ways of coping with this situation. And hey, get me around a bingo table and I’m quite the Olympian too!
