Impostor

We become actors without realizing it, and actors without wanting to.
Henri Frederic Amiel

I am leaving for NYC tomorrow as Eva Cheval. I have long red hair, and I am sassy.

I’m molting, molllting.

I once had a dear friend say to me, “let your freak flag fly.” I never considered that a challenge but have found it a fitting phrase of late. Judging from my comrades in the photos, age must be everything to pulling off this look. Well, age and good genes, a handful of stylists and perhaps a plastic surgeon or two.
“Holy hair follicles bat man, she’s bald!” Days 13 and 14 (after the first chemo treatment) the shedding began. By days 17 and 18 hair was dropping like leaves in November. I’d get in the shower and scrub my itchy head, then clean the drain. My yoga mat was dusted with hair and I struggled with a scarf to contain the drift—after class a friend gently offered to shave my head. It was smooth, cold and my hat struggled to stay on the slick surface. Though I was quickly sporting soft gray stubble, the wig has taken on a practical nature because of the weather. As well, I sleep in a cotton cap to keep my head warm and wear a hat indoors.
I’ve never been one to get too attached to a hairstyle, so the lack of hair hasn’t rocked my world. I still have the same eyes, smile, boobs, hips, legs, skin and soul. My kids smile and shrug, its no big deal 'round here.
I’m thinking of getting a tattoo on my head, something to tie into the cool, cancer-assassin theme. Ok, maybe not.

We must change in order to survive. – Pearl Bailey

Liberation Army

I had been forewarned that it would be best to cut my hair very short before the hair started to fall out from the chemotherapy. The head can be pink and tender at this time; a short cut is less irritating than shaving. Ten days after chemo, it felt the like time was right to liberate my head.
That said, there has been a shearing and it was a joyous celebration of an evening. Friends Lynne and Scott, Rosalie, Kim, and my son Cheney were present. Lynne made her excellent lentil soup, Rosalie poured champagne, Scott mixed music for the evening, “Hot Wig mix”, and we cranked it. Kim offered love, support, and a good deal of floor sweeping. The camera changed hands throughout the evening to provide a visual record.
Scott had grown his hair over the last year and a half and had made the decision, without coercion on anyone’s part, to show his support by cutting his hair and donating it to Locks of Love. Locks of Love is an organization that provides hairpieces to financially disadvantaged children under age 18 suffering from long-term medical hair loss from any diagnosis. A humbling inclusion to the evening and an altruistic statement we could all embrace as a distraction to cutting for chemo.
I had decided that Cheney would clip my hair. I wanted this to be a family ceremony and opportunity for him to contribute at a time when cancer had hijacked his mom. Cheney, like all my boys, prefers a good buzz cut to a manicured style and is nearly an expert with shears. I trusted my head in his hands.
I think the photos best reveal the mood of the evening and hope you enjoy the visuals as much as we enjoy our new styles.

I’m Bringing Sexy Back.

(Apologies to Mr. Timberlake). Or, how about Stevie Wonder? “Put on your red dress baby and that wig hat on your head.” Sorry, the hits just keep popping up.
Wig shopping…whoa, there’s some fun. All in preparation for later this week. The hair falls out, in clumps, about 10-12 days after the first chemo treatment. Yea, pretty much forget everything you knew about bad hair days... 
Note to self: cancel bikini wax.

Cocktails anyone?

Ok, truth. I broke down crying on Day Four after chemo when I couldn’t find the information on where to buy a wig. Generally, I would have chuckled at myself, and cursed with frustration as I tore through the recycling (twice) and every paper on my desk. However, when reduced to tears over a piece of paper I had merely placed elsewhere, I had to wonder, is this what fatigue looks like?
But let’s back up to chemo-day. I arrived with my entourage who took over all mundane decisions for me—parking, elevator buttons, bathroom directions, and where to have lunch after treatment. The parking staff, perplexed as to what our purpose was given the playful mood, was assured on my next trip they would recognize (by my oncologists hairstyling technique) where I was headed. Blood was drawn, and I was cleared for take off. A quick meeting with the ever-sunny Dr. Rahatgi for last minute orders of the day and we were escorted to the chemo room for the hook-up. There are about 18 recliners in this room and nearly all were full. The chemo business is booming. Entourages are welcome here, the nurses are animated, and the snacks are plentiful. It was New Year’s Eve and the mood was light…or was it just the first cocktail drip? The mix started with Benedryl, while keeping an eye out for allergic reactions with the first cocktail. Ativan was added, which keeps nausea at bay, and left me without a care in the world (and memory lapse) over the next 8 hours. No pain, nausea, fatigue or creepy feelings from the chemo. In fact, I went out that night with my Ativan buzz (no champagne needed here).
Felt great Day Two and Three, though, it’s been rumored, a bit of an air-head. Days Five and Six, I feel unscathed.