Lymphomania...

I've been really thinking (in my own little world) that this hair of mine would hold out for at least a month. Over the last 24 hours, it is clear to me that I either have to shave it off or sleep with a Dustbuster. I thought I was going to be really cool about it but I am, frankly, feeling like a bit of a freak. I can only imagine how the new concentration camp look will startle me in the middle of the night when I go to the bathroom. I'm not so into the wig even though it is as soft and shiny as a high-end Geisha girl. I seriously thought I was cooler and less vain than this. I mean, it is only hair. There have been tears. I'm not gonna lie.

But, my scalp is shedding like a Retriever, and I now have around 70% of it gone - so after 3 weeks my dreams have faded that this will hold out much longer. Once I shave it, I'm pretty sure it will feel freeing, but this last bit of time hanging over my head is stressful. The kids are coming to visit this weekend from Chicago to take me to chemo2. I think Saturday night will simply come down to fried shrimp, pasta with marinara sauce, and a buzz cut. Maybe it is because I've never done anything so drastic - but, let's face it... cancer is drastic, and I must accept that. It has become the "norm" for me. Like it or hump it.

I'm a poet. Sue me.

I did a terrible thing last night and watched a movie on Netflix with Keanu Reeves and Charlize Theron. "Sweet November" - never heard of it. Light little "Sleepless in Seattle" type genre. So, I'm watching it; kinda cute - she is a free-spirited hippie who is trying to talk this exec-type unhappy workaholic down from the ledge. She succeeds with great abandon until he finds her (hiding in the bedroom) throwing up and looking like she (too) needed a Red Bull. (yes, the blot is thickening into my "last week" ,...) So, I am contemplating turning it off thinking - lighten up, Sal... how bad could this be? HIV? The girl just needs a transplant or a bad case of anemia. Right?

Wrong.

They've drawn me in now... like those horrible Dateline shows on Friday night.. when you want to strangle the moderator who asks the same questions over the course over five commercial breaks - so just tell me if they bludgeoned the girl with the axe already! I can't find out about the bludgeoning until they sell me at least two Aflac ducks. It will be the same with this show. Will they stay together? Will he change his ways? Will he find her pills? Not Billy Wilder type fare but doable when I am bored out of my mind with TV, and too headachy for reading.

I actually avoid TV even though we have at least 6000 channels. This confuses and upsets me when I have so many choices. I miss the 3,6,10 ( of the 60s). Those channels were my mother's first inkling of my dense IQ when I couldn't see a difference in the numbers. I was too old to not comprehend such simplicities, but just like telling the time, I avoided anything that looked "hard" and my brother would do it for me anyway - being the protege he was. I was encouraged to "just go draw something cute in a corner" while Chris was given Tolstoy and Hemingway - poor guy. I could barely get through "The Secret in the Old Attic" by Nancy Drew. I used to pretend-read but spent hours (and hours) rearranging the furniture in my room instead. I was Sally Berkus even at nine years-old. Anyone who knows me today knows that that has never changed.

I would rather have my tires rotated than ruin ten minutes of my life searching for something on TV. I am now wondering why I turned this movie on but (like a bad accident) I can't stop watching the horror.

Scene cuts to Charlize in hospital bed unconscious with (of course... here it comes) a bald head. Damn. This is not good. Little Sally voice is saying... Turn it off. Quickly, before they say the C word.

Now, I am not just looking at a bad accident but something more dismal... something more menacing. I don't (ever) watch horror movies and (after all) I signed up for "Sleepless in Seattle," not "Terms of Endearment" for godsakes. Doctor comes into the room to stand over Charlize... (turn it off you imbecile) and says, (with a voice resembling Bella Lugosi)

"she has ooooooh-no-non-hoOdgkins-lymphOooooooma."

Are you kidding me? I would have been better off watching reruns of "Get Smart" than falling into this mistake... anything but the "she-has-non-hodgkins-lymphoma movie."

Only me.

I now can't sleep. I take a Xanax to relieve the anxiety that I will turn into Charlize by Saturday. Netflix clearly did not get the monkey memo. I can't escape from hearing about more stories, commercials, marathons, Datelines, Nightlines, and youtube videos about cancer. I can't hide.

Pounding headache. Good news: my stellar massage is today. Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.