Part Eighteen: Hair, Hair, Everywhere

            At first it was kind of fun:  run my fingers through my hair and out it would come.

            Then it got annoying:  wake up in a cloud of hair, use a few lint roller sheets to clean off my pillow, and go back to sleep.

            And finally, it got sickening:  globs of hair in the shower, more hair than I ever realized I had.  But it’s almost gone now, and in the space of three days I officially look like a cancer patient.

            Trying to get rid of the last of it (yes, now I wish I had simply had it all shaved off last week), I vigorously dried what was left after shampooing this morning.  I even nabbed a pair of scissors, but as I held out sections to snip, the hair simply pulled out.  So now I have wisps.

            I’m not feeling up to going to church this morning.  Instead, I am washing blankets and sheets.  And adjusting to being bald.  And, incidentally, not feeling too whippy.

            The weekend after chemo is rough.  Lousy, icky, sickly feeling—but at least without queasiness since I have a better idea how soon to take the anti-nausea meds.  It gets harder to drink fluids.  I eat because I know I should, though I sure snarfed down that Wendy’s burger and fries Joan brought over at my request.  No physical energy, no emotional energy.  Doze, nap, read, try to pray, listen to music, stare off into space.  And then repeat. 

            By tomorrow, I should feel well enough to leave the house and get these last wisps shaved off.   Then I can put away the lint roller and the shampoo, tend to my tender scalp, and get used to the new me.  It will be a better day.