An interesting observation yesterday.  The past few days I’ve been something of an old grump.  I really don’t like being this way.  It’s the chemo, man!  Yes, as stated this time out there was a bit more of a punch to the effects.

I do not make for a good patient.  I am well aware of this fact.  Hell, I get sick and I’m just this irritable child that sulks about with an air of petulance.  Give me an ice cream and I’m all better…for a while.

Okay, maybe I’m not that bad.  In any case the weird thing has been the numbness.  It is beginning to improve.  Here it is Sunday morning and the coffee taste reasonable.  Yesterday, I could not finish my morning cup.

Another interesting thing occurred yesterday.  As I put my wig on I became extremely annoyed that it looked ‘perfect’.  Not a damn hair out of place!  I can’t change the look either.  It’s just there.  Pull it on, take a comb to it to get all the pieces that are stuck underneath the cap out…and there I be.  Perfect!

1000992_10151802186398900_205249902_nThe Head2013-09-16 06.53.46

Here is the lineup.  My school picture at 13 years of age.  My shaved head at age 55.  Me in the wig at age 55. 

Then I stopped and considered this reaction.  Was part of my being tied up with this weird relationship that I’ve had with my hair?  Was I feeling bereft at not having any hair to bitch about?  A totally pointless pursuit but one I opted to explore in any case.

I have a friend who had a short haircut that was for her ‘horrific’ at the age of 13 and she has had long hair in the same style ever since.  She is 55 years of age, the same as I am, and we’ve talked about this a few times.  She assures me she will never get her hair cut short ever again.  She is quite confident that she was traumatized at that point in her life and will never try to undo the trauma.


Everyone loves the wig, by the way.  So for that brief moment yesterday, I hated it.  I despised its perfection.  Maybe because I was just feeling out of sorts I wanted to ‘take it out’ on something.  Lay blame, assign blame…I don’t know.


The coffee isn’t tasting so much like metal and cardboard today.  Not the full richness that I am familiar with though.  I am done sulking.

I went for walk with a friend yesterday who asked about the comfort of the wig.  It is fine for the most part.  Sometimes if I have a ‘hot flash’ it gets a little itchy.  But as I explained, it feels like wearing a hat.  It doesn’t give me the sensation I have with my own hair.  So when I come home I hang it up.  I tried a few scarves and well, I look like some whacked out gypsy who lost her crystal ball.  I also don’t know how to arranged such things as I don’t wear them.

Now some people totally rock scarves.  And some people totally rock no hair at all.  I may have mentioned the girl I saw at the Cancer Agency who had just the most beautifully shaped shaved head.  Man, she looked awesome!

So again I have these strange little quirks that have reared up to perhaps give me a little more insight into this conglomerate known as ‘Nancy’.  And you know, I do understand the issue with my hair.  From as far back as I can remember my hair was trying to be sculpted into something it could never be.

Perhaps there is more to this than meets the eye.  I now sport a wig because it just wouldn’t ‘feel right’ to venture out into the public bald.  Oh, going swimming or exercising without the wig is necessary.  Still I have a certain look to maintain at the office.  I don’t know that I would feel comfortable bare-headed.  Strange.

I am working through these little quirks of mine though and trying to understand their origins a little better.  At the end of the day the hair thing is just this weird little hangup of mine.

It is a beautiful Sunday here.  I am going to finish up my domestic duties and get back out and have a walk about.  Maybe take a few pics of the fall foliage.

Enjoy your day and thanks for stopping by.



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