POLL TIME: Time to go MOHAWK or....?
Whatever level of self-consciousness I have does not bode well for me. I don't only* care about looks, but I am not one to roll out of bed and go out. I put my contacts in, make sure I look like I care (lol) and then go out. Well, I won't have the luxury of choice for much longer. It all feels like a terrible joke:
No more hair.
I forewarned it was a terrible joke - I'm not sitting here writing and editing, this is me talking the way I would if you were sitting in front of me. That is exactly the bad joke I'd tell you to express how I feel haha. It's supposed to capture just how little time I have to confront this losing-hair situation. I had heard about something called "Cold Caps" that people sometimes wear to preserve some of the hair, but then I thought... is 60% of patches of hair better than me just owning this and going bald? No. Not for me.
[[PAUSE TIME: ALARM WENT OFF FOR 2ND BLOOD THINNER SHOT OF THE DAY. BOOOOOOO. TIM LOOKS WAY TOO HAPPY WITH THAT NEEDLE!]]
OK, I survived (we'll see how long this lasts haha). Back to hair. It's not about the actual hair, of course, but of what it represents: femininity. I remember in 7th grade I went for a last-minute haircut (never a good idea) to the Taiwanese lady who cut my dad's hair. You should get the idea there but let me just finish up the scene for you. I asked her to trim my bangs just a little, I even gesticulated what "a little" represented to leave absolutely no room for her imagine. I motioned a centimeter. What did she take off? Like... TEN TIMES THAT. I was so devastated I cried. I was ruined forever.
Now obviously I'm much older and hopefully proportionately wiser, but the thought of shaving it all off? It's a lot to swallow. Right now I'm a bit worried because I go between two polarized states when it comes to what will be inevitable. 50-percent of the time I feel like it's a badass move to shave it all off. I'm OWNING my situation. I don't want one strand of hair to fall that wouldn't otherwise naturally leave my head. The other half of the time, I feel incredibly mortal. I imagine myself essentially bald and freak. I ask Tim if he's going to be able to handle it. He leaves no doubt in my mind that he will. Really, every time I ask him, it's a question I'm actually lobbing to myself because I'm unsure and afraid of the answer.
This is where awesome family and friends come in. On top of Tim being the most amazing partner any lady could ever ask for, my peeps have stepped in to help me look at this in a positive way. My buddy and photographer extraordinaire Josh gave me a great idea tonight:
The only problem is that while my face is naturally "sharper" or "skinnier," it is a far cry from that because of the swollen lymph nodes (damn you, cancer!). AKA I think it'd look just... funky-in-a-not-good way on me. We'll see though. I've been talking to a few young women who've been in my shoes (I'll blog about their awesome goodness later) and one told me today that it can actually hurt when your hair falls out from chemo. That gives me more incentive to chippity-chop it all off before that can even happen. I figure I have roughly one month to play around with my hair with one or more styles before the hair starts falling so...