Naked

I haven’t been out of the house since last Thursday. I’d say I’m getting cabin fever except… I’m kind of “content” to just hide in my bed for awhile.

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I took a shower. A 4:30 in the morning. I needed to be clean. Confession? I haven’t showered since last Thursday either. Why bother? It’s not like I’m going anywhere. Who cares. I don’t do anything, or work up a sweat. It’s not like I have hair to keep clean.

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Call it a full on depressive slump.

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But I took a shower. And I realized why I’ve resisted it so much. It’s been 3 weeks (?) since my hair started falling out, since I shaved my head. I’m down to half an eyebrow over each eye… limited lashes. Pubes are going now. Not that I care about that. That’s a plus as far as I’m concerned.

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But I realized tonight, after shaving my head stubble at the sink (surprisingly, even though all of my hair is slowly and methodically falling out of my body- my head is still sprouting stubble in the areas that hadn’t fallen out pre-shave. Nature’s fabulous fucking irony)- anyway, I realized as I turned off the shower and reached up- that I still do that: reach up. I put both hands to my head, to wring out my hair before I step onto the bathmat. Even though I haven’t had any hair to wring out for 3 weeks now. It’s like one of those muscle memory things. My arms just go- my hands just… rested on my head and then slid down, slinging water off of invisible hair that no longer exists.

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And it bothered me. A lot. I mean, it kind of took my breath away for a minute. That realization. And even after that… when I reached for my towel- my arms moved again, unwanted, unwarranted, and the towel landed with a *pouf* covering my head and face and I drew it down, again- wringing nonexistent streams of water from my nonexistent hair. And that’s when I sat down.

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I want to try and go out today. Just to lunch, or dinner with Kris. Just someplace local. Szechwan maybe. But I am so overwhelmed. Not by social anxiety the way I used to be- the result is the same but the feeling is different. It is anxiety. It is a desire to stay invisible. But it doesn’t come from the same place that it did back in those days. Back in the days when I couldn’t function. Back in the days when I couldn’t work, couldn’t go to the caf, couldn’t even go to classes for so many days that I had to leave college because my anxiety disorder won.

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The result is the same but it comes from a different place in my body now. A sick place. A tired place. An angry place.

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A place that isn’t deluded into thinking the world is staring and judging me because I’m a terrible person- but a place that KNOWS the world is staring and judging me… because I’m bald, and wearing a scarf on my head in 90* weather; because I’m wearing a surgical mask below the dark circles at my eyes. Because I look sick. And they’re wondering if I’m contagious, or pitiable… or both.

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And I am the least invisible person in any room now. That’s what Cancer has done to me this week. This month.

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It comes from a different place in my body. Not the headspace where my anxiety used to always live. It comes from my gut. Every muscle and every bone and every blink of my eye desperate to just look like everyone else again.

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And I thought I was beyond such things. I thought I was a warrior, a goddess.

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But I’m not. Not right now. Not right this second.

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Because right now I am naked. And in pain. And tired.

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And I want to wear a sign that says, “I have CANCER so you can STOP STARING NOW!”.

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And I want to hide in my room, in my bed, and just be invisible to the outside world. Because now I’m the person I used to pity. And I’m not sure if I’m angrier at myself for caring NOW, or for pitying people like me back THEN.

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I don’t want to be pitied. I just want to be invisible. I just want to be well. I want to not be afraid. Because I am afraid. I’m afraid of my body. I’m afraid of the medicine. I’m afraid of the Cancer and I am afraid that for the rest of my life I’m going to live in a state of quiet fear that even though I beat it once- it could still come back and beat me.

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So now I’m naked.

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And all I want to be is invisible.

Wake Me Up

I am so freaking stressed out.

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I’m still sick. So I have no idea what to expect on Thursday. I can’t imagine her delaying my next treatment ANOTHER week, but still… .

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Plus, guess what, cell phone and car insurance bills are due, but I don’t have it. So, I’ll have to either call tomorrow (I just got up, don’t ask) and see if I can get them both to give me another couple of weeks (again), or ask Kris to pay them. AGAIN. Which you know, she doesn’t have enough on her plate either.

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I’m supposed to do this craft fair with my Aunt on the 13th. I said I’d bring jewelry and photos. I haven’t gone through my existing stock of photos yet, but I know I don’t have enough to take. To say nothing of having 0 Mats to put on them. Thinking of just mounting them on cardstock (which I have) with small edges, then they’re still thin enough for people to take home and frame themselves, but saves me having to buy mats, and stiffens them just slightly. Is that too cheesy? I mean, it’s just an elementary school craft fair.

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PLUS I was going to try and make some necklaces that are kid-sized and kid friendly but I’m so not motivated to do that. Honestly. What size do I even make that shit?

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But the real root of it all, is that I’m tired. I’m tired of being sick, I’m tired of being tired, I’m tired of being bald, and being inside, and even if I wasn’t sick and sickly, I don’t want to go anywhere because I’m already tired of being fucking stared at wearing my scarf and a goddamn mask everywhere. I haven’t left the house since last Thursday. And I keep telling myself it’s because I’m sick and the Dr. doesn’t WANT me out and about… but the real truth is- that’s never stopped me before. Kris keeps saying, “just come to dinner.” But I don’t want to. I don’t want to get stared at anymore.

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I am struggling so much right now, financially, emotionally, physically. I just feel completely not myself and I hate it. I am so much stronger than this. My confidence is just… shot. And I am so tired of not being able to support myself financially- I’m pissed that my supplemental insurance claims were BOTH denied. I just.

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And everyone says, oh go talk to SuperTherapist. Except what can she tell me? It’s all temporary. I’ll beat Cancer, I’ll find a job, I’ll go back to the way things were (sort of). And it will all go back to normalish. I know it will. This depression, this anxiety, this pain is all temporary. I don’t need a therapist to tell me that.

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But that doesn’t make it any easier to handle now. Plus, I’d have to go see her and not pay. Again. And quite frankly I can’t handle one more “favor” from someone I know. It’s going to be hard enough to ask Kris to pay my 2 piddling little bills. AGAIN. Again again again.

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I know it’s not my fault, and I know it’s not a bad thing to need other people. But I spent YEARS and YEARS figuring out how to support MYSELF. It feels like failure to need other people so much for so many things.

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I’d rather pay for things with donations, except of course no one has anything to donate anymore.

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I just want to crawl into bed and wake up when this is all over. And it’s been a long time since I felt that way about my life.

Pinktober Hits Comics

 

Oh Look!  It’s October, when marketing and corporations remind us that the ONLY cancer that matters is Breast Cancer.
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For a whole fucking month.
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I was a lot less angry about Komen and Pink Ribbons before I got Uterine Cancer.  Because it took getting some other Cancer for me to realize just how invisible anything but Breast Cancer really is.
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Instead of giving into corporate marketing greed (which is what this really is), donate directly to the Cancer Society.  Or help out someone you know who has Cancer.
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I can’t wait till October’s over.  Then we can go back to ignoring women’s Cancer issues completely like we do the rest of the fucking year.  You know.. unless you actually HAVE Cancer.  Then you can just get ignored.

Disappear

I am struggling emotionally right now.

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And I know part of it is just… being stuck at home, sick, frustrated by the stall in treatment. And part of it is growing anxiety about doing the article. And part of it is just… exhaustion.

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I’ve managed for a long long time to avoid feeling sick. My weight has helped. Because I started out bigger, the weight loss from my first round didn’t really give me that… “sick girl” look the way it would have on someone smaller. My hair didn’t fall out at all the first round, and even with my buzz cut- the look wasn’t that dramatic.

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But in the last week. It’s more than just feeling sicker. It’s looking sick. It’s circles under my eyes, pale skin, shaven head. It’s patches starting to appear in my eyebrows, my eyelashes getting thinner. It’s wearing a scarf everywhere I go because my head gets cold, and then the rest of me does. It’s wearing a mask to avoid other people’s germs.

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Last week, we went to our favorite Chinese place. No mask yet, just my scarfed head. And when we walked in, a whole table stared. And as we ate, a different table stared. And I thought, “this is what it’s like. This is what happens when people can just… tell that you’re sick.”

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And in the car on the way home from the Cancer Center yesterday- mask on, eyes red, tears falling, scarf falling. Having people in other cars stare. Have them watch me as they go into the store where Kris is getting me meds.

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I look the part now. I’m not emaciated. But it’s still obvious. I’m sick. I can’t hide from it, I can’t pretend anymore.

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Kris asked if I wanted to go to the musicals with her next week. We’re both assuming I’ll be better by then anyway. I said no. I’d have to wear a mask. Too many people. Too many germs. I’d have to wear a scarf. I can’t even imagine trying to get into the theater. I’d run out of energy before we even lost sight of the car. To say nothing of getting in and out of seats, to and from the bathroom.

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My life revolves around a very limited amount of physical energy. And my threshold for being stared at. And Kris, god bless her. Wants to scream at the people who stare. She’d march up and tell them all what for if I’d let her. But for the first time in a very long time, all I really want right now is to be invisible.

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I’m sick. And I’m tired. And I’m fed up. I just want this to be over. I just want to start over. I want this year to be behind me finally. I want to erase it. For the rest of my life this will be the year I had Cancer. And I just want it to disappear.

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I want to disappear.

Not Today

No chemo today. I should probably be relieved, but I keep crying. Postponed till next week and I’m on strict orders of sleep, soup, and fluids until then.
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Just… Another week. I don’t want ANOTHER week between me and being done.
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I was already super emotional because I’m tired and sick and bald and having to wear a mask and I just feel completely overwhelmed.
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Another fucking week. I just want to be done with all of this. This was supposed to be my halfway marker.
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Sometimes I feel like its just too much for me to handle. I just want this to be over.

Confession

Ok, confession:

I am really nervous about tomorrow’s (ok, today’s) chemo. I’ve had a cold most of the week with a low-grade fever off and on. It’s the first time I’ve been sick since… well since long before I was diagnosed, and I have no idea what the implications are for treatment tomorrow. :shrug:

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I know she said they have precautions to take to avoid the reaction I had last time, but I’m nervous about that too. It was scary- tight chest, hot face, tingling hands…I know they said they can control it. I trust them. I do.

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But more than that… last cycle… the side effects were pretty bad. And even though I’m prepared with painkillers this time, I just- I don’t want to be in that much pain. It’s so so bad.

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And I’ll be honest, I am still scared. I know the CT came back clear. I know that’s a good thing. But CTs came back clear before. When there were still tumors. When there was Cancer, mus have been. I wonder (as I have many times) if I will ever not be afraid of Cancer.

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:shrug: Chalk this up under stuff I think about 7 hours before chemo.

Halfway (Tentative)

Ok… tomorrow is chemo 2 of 4. Hopefully this is my final round (all signs point to yes) so that means I will officially be over the halfway point for this (more aggressive) round.

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It also means my interneting will probably be limited to checking messages, checking my tag. I may be ok Friday/Saturday… but if last cycle is anything to judge by, from Sunday on I’ll pretty much be out of commission until late next week.

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SO- if there is something you need me for specifically… either reach out to me Fri/Sat… or tag me so I can catch it in my tracked tag.

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Otherwise… woo hoo… halfway done (almost).

Stare at This

Tell you what restaurant patrons, you want to stare at the white bitch wearing a scarf on her head? I’ll give you something to fucking stare at. Here’s my bald chemo head. Fuck you.

Love from the Web

My Heart is just…. bursting.

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It is so bizarre to see my face on blogs that I have stalked/admired/been in awe of from a distance for so long.

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RedefiningBodImage, UnapologeticFatty, FuckYeahHardFemme, SHYB (although in fairness I have posted there before)… I just… gesus.

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And the messages. You guys.

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I just made a post. After 2 days of posting my psychotic, kewpie-hair… I took some control, shaved my head and blogged about it, like I have about things in the past. And the response is… overwhelming.

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People keep saying my story makes them cry- YOU all make ME cry. I’m completely undone tonight. I’m not anything special. I mean I am, but not because of Cancer, or because I shaved my head, or because I’m on Chemo. I’m strong. But I got strong long before I got Cancer.

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To see people’s responses, and messages, and the frakking notes… omg. I spent a lot of years feeling alone and unseen, and for a lot of years… unseen was just the way I wanted to be.

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But tonight I feel surrounded by ALL of you. And I am so so grateful for this unbelievable response.

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So do me a favor… While you’re reading, and thinking, and posting, and talking about how strong I am, and how beautiful I am- remember:

SO ARE YOU.

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If you sit at home alone, and invisible, and feeling unworthy- remember that I have been there. That I started there too. And sometimes- I visit that space again and remember what it was like. But if I can move out of that place, if I can let myself be seen, if I can seemyselfand be happy, and feel beautiful- then so can you.

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That power is IN you, just like it was in me. You just have to see it. It’s not easy. It’s not fast. It took a lot of therapy, a lot of time, and yes, A lot of work to get to that space. But I did. And you can too.

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I’ve said this before, but my ask box is always open. Submissions too. If you want to be anon, you can click it. If you want to not be anon but don’t want an ask published- just say so. I will answer. I’m here.

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If you want to put me on a pedestal I’d ask you not to. But if you you need a reminder that you can get through whatever you’re going through and not just survive it but rise above it- then you use me. And remember that I believe in you, even when you don’t believe in yourself.

Afraid

So my head hurts, my throat’s been progressively scratchier all day and I’m currently sitting at 99.5*.
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I’m thinking I may be running late on the mask-wearing front.
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If I get to 101 I have to call my oncologist. I really hope whatever this is…. My body is still strong enough to kill it.
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File this under things cancer has made me afriad of.

Here I Am

So… here I am.

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Today, I shaved my head. 6 months, 1 round of Chemo, 1 round of Radiation, and 1/4 cycles into round 2 of Chemo finally robbed me of my hair. Which was, surprisingly traumatic.

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I’ve never been a big hair person. I’ve threatened to shave my head for YEARS only to rebuffed by friends and family. So when we met with my Oncologist for the first time and we discussed the potential chemo, I actually sort of considered the hair loss to be a silver lining.

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Before my first round of chemo, I shaved my head pro-actively. We had a big party actually. A bunch of my friends got together and we had food, and gifts, and had a celebration of defiance. It was empowering.

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Of course, then I didn’t lose my hair after all. But after a month off of treatment, I’ve started Round 2 of 2 of Chemo. At the initial pre-treatment assessment we talked about the side-effects being a little bit different this time around. And while there were things she neglected to mention (like the body-wrenching bone pain), she did let me know that my hair would fall out this time, definitively. We were talking about how unhappy I was with the color and texture of the hair that grew back post-buzz cut. And she sort of chuckled and said, “Well, in a couple weeks that will be pretty much wiped clean.”

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I didn’t realize how literal that would end up being. Yesterday was 2 weeks to the day from Treatment #1 and on Monday the first few strands started to come out. Tuesday, more, thicker. By Wednesday I was starting to look a bit bizarre. I started wearing scarves and hats. By the end of the day Thursday- I looked like a neglected, possessed kewpie-doll.

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I had no idea how traumatic the process of losing my hair was going to be. I knew it would be hard. But I’ve never been a hair person. Never been that caught up with my appearance. I just— I didn’t think it would matter that much.

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But there is something so real, so vivid, so painful about watching fistfulls of hair come away from your head. To watch a small bald spot become a large bald patch. To leave behind a trail of hair as you walk through the house. I didn’t realize. Fortunately, I have a dear friend who is also my hairdresser. And another who let us borrow her house.

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Lisa buzzed out the rest of my hair, and Stacey sat and watched and distracted me. There was calming music, aromatherapy incense and lots of love. There were tears on the initial reveal, it was hard to let people see what was there. Or what wasn’t as the case may be. I didn’t even show Kris- and we live in the same house. They are the only 2 people who saw that… hair-losing-phase in person.

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When I got home, I took my razor and finished the job, leaving my head smooth and soft. And surprisingly- it actually looks pretty good.

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I think there are a few reasons why this has been so hard to deal with. One is that the hair loss is such an universal and obvious sign that I’m sick, that I have Cancer. It’s this sight that tells the world- This girl has Cancer. And that’s hard. My size has actually made me a little lucky in that respect. I have (up to this point) looked incredibly healthy. Strong. People tell me that all the time. And that’s helped in a way- to keep me from sort of… sinking into all of this the way I otherwise could have.

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But to be fair, and to be honest, there is more to it than that. I spent 20 years hating the way I looked. Feeling Ugly, unlovable, unattractive, unwantable. And there were a lot of issues that went into that assessment- but in the last 2 years I did so much work to change all of that. Not to change my looks- but to change my FEELINGS. To finally realize that I was beautiful just the way I was. And the truth is, this whole Cancer process has put a little bit of a dent in all of that. My body is changing, constantly, sometimes drastically. I face this sort of- readjustment period every time I look in a mirror- learning my new shape, my new condition, my new look. Over and over.

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And for whatever reason- seeing myself in a patchwork of hair and skin— seeing this so-obvious sign of illness, was finally, once and for all— too much. For the first time in more than 2 years, I felt ugly again.

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So today, I came home from Stacey’s and finished my head shaving at home, carefully running the palm of my hand back and forth, following with the razor when I ran in to small pockets of rough hair. And less than 20 minutes later, baby smooth… soft… pale.

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And you can still see a difference. Patches of darker scalp where I still had hair- follicles left behind giving shadow to my otherwise empty head. But I can handle that. So, I showered off the loose hair, showered off the trauma and meloncholy of the last few days and dressed. I chose a necklace (one of my own making of course- why miss a marketing opportunity right?), and sat in front of the computer, photoboothing until I had 4 shots that I didn’t just… not hate, but that I actually liked.

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For the first time all week, I can look myself in the eye again. And here I am. Bald. But still beautiful. Not that I wasn’t still beautiful yesterday or the day before. Not that I wasn’t beautiful the whole time. I was. But I don’t necessarily think it’s the “look” of my shaved head that made things better. Like my first pre-chemo buzz… I think it was the act of making the choice. Of not waiting for Chemo, for Cancer to steal one. more. thing. from me, from my life.

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Of course as a bonus- I look pretty bitching as a baldie. And Cancer hasn’t changed everything. I’m still fat. I’m still fabulous. It’s just that now, I’m not burdened with the ordeal of having to make my hair behave for a few months.

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So here’s to being beautiful. Even as a psycho-possessed-kewpie-doll.

Even bald.

Still me.

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Beautiful.

Close Shave

Current state of affairs.
Post shave.  This is as close as we could get with clippers.
Getting ready to take a shower and razor off what’s left.
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I will admit, I feel a little bit less traumatized now than I did earlier.

The Other Blog

I’ve been posting a lot of my cancer feels on my main blog this week. Part laziness and part just finally settling in to the idea that I can’t just.. separate my Cancer from my life.

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I think that even though the whole point of this was to keep my cancer-related whining away from MOST of the rest of the people I interact with- the real reason I separated it out was because I could pretend that it doesn’t infect my everyday life.

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But this week shattered that in a way I didn’t really expect.

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When I was first diagnosed, and we realized after seeing Dr. Kehoe that Chemo was going to be involved, I said immediately that I was going to shave my head. I didn’t feel like I could handle watching my hair fall out. So, June 1st, a bunch of my friends rallied around me and I got my hair buzzed down to almost nothing. It felt amazing. Empowering, courageous, hopeful… it had this illusion of control.

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And then of course, my hair didn’t actually fall out. But I became nearly housebound during daily radiation, trapped by the gastrointestinal issues that came with all of that. Still, for some reason, I kept separating my cancer from my regular life. At least here.

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My hair grew back, slowly. It was a different color, a different texture, thinner. And I started getting used to it. I didn’t really like it, but I was getting used to it.

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This week though—

It started to fall out. Just in strands at first. But then, running my hands over my head produced small piles of hair. Today, I’m about half bald, half hair. I spent the last 2 days buying hats and scarves. Hiding my head from my family… even from myself sometimes.

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And all the while, I’ve been posting about it on the main blog. Because I think I’m finally realizing that cancer isn’t something I can separate. I don’t know why it was the hair that finally changed that. But it was.

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There is something really horrific about watching your scalp appear in a 3 day period. About seeing hair flutter down constantly onto your desk, in your bed, at your feet.

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I knew it would be hard to handle. But I didn’t have any idea how hard. Tomorrow, I’m having my head shaved. And I know it’s the right decision, and it will be so much better than continuing to watch this horror film to it’s inevitable conclusion. But at the same time, I am having almost as hard a time adjusting to the idea of the shaving as I have been to the falling out.

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I’ve never cared about my hair. Ever. I was actually kind of glad when she told me it would fall out during treatment. I’ve threatened for years to shave my head just for fun. And maybe if I’d shaved it ahead of this round too I’d feel differently about it than I do now. Maybe not. Maybe I’d still feel the same, but just about losing my eyebrows, my eyelashes. :shrug: I don’t know.

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I’ve never cared about my hair. Never been attached to it. Frequently found it more obnoxious than anything else. But now that I see it, stacked in my palms, making dark lines on my desk, trailing behind me on the bathroom floor- I find myself traumatized by the act of losing it.

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A friend said that maybe part of it is that it’s so recognizable. It’s this absolutely irrefutable sign that I really am “sick.” And I think that’s probably part of it. Through this whole process, all I’ve heard is, “you look amazing,” “You look a lot better than I thought,” “you still look really healthy” “you’re the healthiest looking sick person I’ve ever seen.”

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But now— with the hair of an abused baby doll, sparse and stuck up, uneven— now, I look the part. I look sick. I look like I have Cancer. I can’t hide from that anymore.

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I can’t pretend that Cancer isn’t my life right now. Because it just is. It’s not permanent. It’s not even really long term in the grand scheme of things. But right now- Cancer IS my life.

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And I don’t have words for how much it hurts to finally see that. To feel it.

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This will pass. I’ll finish treatment. I’ll go into remission. My hair will grow back. My body will stop aching. I will be done with this.

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But right now, it is my life.

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Tomorrow I shave my head. And I accept that Cancer is my life.

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For now.

Hats

 

My new collection of hats/scarves.
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We kind of hit the jackpot at Sam Moon on hats.  All but the last 2 are from there.  And next time I sell a bunch of jewelry (hopefully that’ll happen soon), I’m going back to Charming Charlie’s for more scarves.
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Forgive the picture quality (or lack thereof).  Photobooth really is not that impressive for taking pics.  But it was quick and easy so there ya go.
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Now.  Time to get back to beading.

Last Day with Hair

The second of the photos I wasn't going to let anyone see.

My last day with hair...











Last day with hair.
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This is my head as of 5:16pm.  Tomorrow, I meet up with my stylist and our friend to shave off whatever is still left at that point.
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Got 5 new hats today (photos appearing soon).
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I think I’ll feel better when I’m just… bald.  I think it’s all the in-between that’s so hard to swallow. I still am not sure why I’m posting this.  Maybe I’m trying to make myself feel brave?  :shrug:  But whatever.
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Goodbye hair.

Thinning

I wasn't going to post this here.  I wasn't going to put this photo in a place where people who know me, who love me, could see it. 

But as I've been creating this blog on blogger, as I've been sharing the experiences I'd originally been recording elsewhere, I realized that a big part of what I want- is to be honest about this whole experience in a way that people just... aren't. 

And part of that honesty is these moments.  Not just the way I TALK about them, but what it looks like.  What it looks like to sit in a room, and on a whim, take a photo of my chemo hair loss.  To take a photo so raw and so painful that I can't even look at the lens.

So this is the post I made in private. 1 of the two photos I didn't show people.  Because this is the reality.  Whether I like it or not, this is part of my Cancer journey too.





I’m not posting this on FB.   I’m not even sure really why I’m posting it at all.
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I guess there is a part of me that needs to document it.  To try and force myself to see it.  Accept it.
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This is what’s left.  For now.
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Wasn’t kidding about a well timed shopping trip.
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I won’t let Kris see it.  It’s hard enough to handle my emotions.
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She asked tonight if I was sure I didn’t want to get a wig.  I’m still undecided about that.  For now hats, scarves are fine.  Maybe after Friday, when I shave off whatever’s still there.  Or maybe next week.
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But this is me.  Tonight.  A patchwork of hair and tears and anger.  :shrug:

T-Minus 1.75 days

Hat and scarf buying happened just in time. There’s no way I can pass anymore. There’s this… stack of hair on my bedside table. It just keeps kind of… coming out. Not falling out on it’s own still… but if I … rub my head on my pillow, or run my hands over my head. It’s there.

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I look a bit of a fright.

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T minus 1.75 days until head shaving.

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At least now I can hide it under a hat. If I can be bothered to leave the house until then anyway.

Walk Out the Door...

Time to go buy hats.

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All I have to do is leave the house. Leave the house and pretend that I don’t care that I have bald spots. And that my hair is still falling out. And that I am not feeling completely overwhelmed by my life right now.

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That’s all I have to do.

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It’ll be better once I have something for my head right? Because then I can go do the rest of my shopping and just pretend it’s a fashion statement.

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Fuck.

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Why is it so hard to just walk out the fucking door?

Can You Ever Be Ready?

I kind of can’t deal with the hair thing.

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I’m going hat shopping tomorrow. If I can stand to leave the house. It’s not exactly coming out in clumps… but… I do have my first little bald… patch.

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Head shaving is scheduled for Friday. Thank god my stylist is also a dear friend. Instead of having me go to the salon (recognizing that I’m feeling a little bit, um, traumatized right now), we’re meeting at another friend’s home to do the deed. I don’t even have words to explain to either of them how grateful I am.

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You would think that after buzzing my hair before Round 1 (only to not lose any hair at all), and being assured it WILL fall out for Round 2… and all the build up to this- that I’d be ready.

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But it is indescribably horrifying to actually watch it happening. To be afraid to move too much for fear that it will fall out on its own. To have to constantly remind yourself not to run a hand over your head, through what’s left… knowing that you’ll just come away with bunches.

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To constantly scrutinize the mirror- trying to see if it’s noticeable.

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And the moment when you realize that it is. When you realize that there is a strip of bare scalp… right at the front of your head.

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I should have done my hat shopping today.

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I should have been ready.

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Can you ever be ready?

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I don’t look like me anymore.

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Let’s face it. I haven’t for awhile. I should have just shaved it before I started Round 2. At least then it would have been my choice. Like I did the first time. Curiosity won-

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But there’s no satisfaction in that this time.

Shreds

This is what’s happening in my room right now. I should stop…. But I keep running my hands through my hair thinking it will stop and it doesn’t. There is just…. More and more.

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Wow. To borrow from fandom-speak: so many feels.