Super Sally-calafragalistic Hair

"I want long, straight, curly, fuzzy, snaggy, shaggy, ratty, matty
Oily, greasy, fleecy, shining, gleaming, streaming, flaxen, waxen
Knotted, polka dotted, twisted, beaded, braided
Powered, flowered and confettied
Bangled, tangled, spangled and spahettied"

I decided that I am completely tired of matted hair and wearing a hat as I prepare for the demise of my hair, so I decided to just shower and fix it. If it falls out, it falls out. I let it air dry for a bit and then talked to my brother for an hour on the phone. I love this part of cancer. I get to talk to everyone cause uber-caring is part of the parade. I mean who doesn't like attention? That sentiment is sadly reminiscent of poor little lonely Sally from the 50's who begs for love in all the wrong places, but I'll take the attention any way I can get it. I figure as long as Dreadly could take me out, I might as well get phone calls from wayward relatives. Sorry, Chris.

(lighten up - I'm kidding)

So now my hair is almost dry and feels a bit like a Brillo Pad and so I am gaining the courage to go over to the mirror and see what is happening. Huh? Doc says he has given me the "lose-your-hair-chemo" and it should be completely gone in two weeks. This puppy is hanging on for dear life. I am not even being careful with it anymore. I have accepted the idea of feeling like I have the flu 24/7, looking pregnant for my 60th birthday, and putting on an uncomfortable wig. I am almost getting a kick out of what I will look like bald. Okay, a big kick. I'm an eccentric sort. Bruce is thrilled. Well, maybe "thrilled" isn't the right word. Fascinated. Okay, he's definitely fascinated that he gets to shave it.

I got the wig for my grandchildren so this process didn't disturb them. Lily already asked me twice when the baby is due, which she gets yelled at for, but the child isn't a moron - I look pregnant. As far as the style, I've decided that I will be bald 90% of the time because (a) it'll be warm out and (b) the tomboy in me simply doesn't care. I care about getting better. Period.

I gingerly take out the hair dryer and start to blow it dry. Mind you, it doesn't look like my hair anymore because it has a little manginess to it. I can stand looking like a Cairn Terrier for a month as long as I get to look like an Asian hooker by May. Face it, my wig is hot.

So I dry it completely and I'm thinking that it looks semi-okay. I then take out Mr Magic CHI - love that little heavenly wand. I coulda had a lot more fun in high school had I had a CHI. I start to flatten the mange and it isn't half bad. Not a Breck commercial or anything, but I can live with this for another week.

Posting these photos in my favorite Sonoma sweatshirt makes me know that I have lost all semblance of pride and vanity. I look like a drug addict (wait... I am a drug addict) I could scare small children and make dogs howl.

I went from taking nothing but a single vitamin pill, Vitamin D and Fish oil to P-O-I-S-O-N. They all but kill you with this stuff and then slowly bring you back to life. Ya gotta wonder...

Super Sally Hair. I am so proud of its spunk

the biggest part in the Midwest

DAHN DAHN DAAAAAAAAAAAAAHN!