Alyssa has been embracing her curly hair for about six months. You know, since the quarantine started.
She found a few fb groups that talk about how to treat your hair and bring out your curls.
One such group touts the “Curly Girl” method of caring for your hair.
It’s all about getting your hair back to a healthy state.
I was scrolling through Instagram one evening and came across a post about frizz and some of the possible reasons your hair is frizzy.
1. Too much water…or not enough water
2. Too much product…or not enough product
3. You’re washing your hair too much…or not enough
4. You’re using products with silicone
5. You’re having a reaction to the coconut oil in your product…or you need MORE coconut oil. Everyone’s hair is different, don’t you know.
6. You’re not scrunching your hair enough…but you’re also touching your hair too much.
7. You need more mousse and less gel…or less mousse and more gel.
It went on and on like that. It was ridiculous. Because basically, they’d don’t really know why people get frizzy hair. It just happens and you should do HOURS of experimentation to figure it out for yourself but hey, buy our products and they might work for you…or they might not; no refunds!
I haven’t bothered to ask Alyssa how much money she’s spent on this curly hair journey of hers. She makes her own money and well, as long as it’s not outrageous, whatever.
She’s got a t-shirt and several microfiber towels that she uses for ‘plopping’ her hair. This is when she lays her hair into the towel/shirt and then gently wraps it so it can dry. This is very different from what I do with my terrycloth towels when I wrap my hair in them. I’m just trying to get the excess water out, not trying to place my hair into any sort of curl patterns.
And don’t get me started on curl patterns. OMG! The insanity. Are you a 1 or a 2c or a 5? Who the hell knows?
She also has a hair dryer with a diffuser. Damn, that thing takes FOREVER. I am not willing to put that much time and effort into my hair. I’m sorry. No. I have five minutes each morning after my shower to comb my wet hair and then it’s time to wake Olivia and braid her glorious hair. I don’t want to carve out three more hours so that I can dry my hair with a diffuser.
I will scrunch some mornings. I will use mousse (but not gel) and I try not to touch my hair much as it drying but even that takes a lot of mental effort and I don’t really have the fortitude to follow through.
So…my girls get to have the awesome hair and I’ll be over here with my frizzy ponytail. After being bald for eight months (or so, because really, when does bald turn into fuzz turn into actual hair?) I’m kind of happy with my frizzy ponytail.
A mom, a dad and two daughters. We're living ordinary lives with a twist of 5p- (Cri du Chat) for spice. But we're about so much more than our younger daughter's genetic diagnosis.
Showing posts with label Hair Today. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hair Today. Show all posts
Monday, September 14, 2020
Tuesday, May 7, 2019
Reporting the Weather for the Hair Impaired
The weather reports need to be given according to my hair.
You know, like if the weather is going to be lovely, the report could be, “0 products needed today, go ahead and straighten it. It’ll be fine.”
Or, “Yeah, a little wind, better use 2 products to control the frizz.”
Then, on the worst days: “Dude, don’t even bother, no matter what you do, you’re going to look like a hag all day long.”
Now, please don’t read this as complaining about my hair.
I have admitted that a bad hair these days is a hundred times better than a good bald day because, alas, there is no such thing as a good bald day. Ha. I crack myself up.
But seriously, until my hair is long enough to go into a ponytail, I probably won’t have a good hair day, so there’s that.
And let’s all face it, my hair takes up about 99.9% of my brain, pretty much 100% of the time. So…yeah.
You know, like if the weather is going to be lovely, the report could be, “0 products needed today, go ahead and straighten it. It’ll be fine.”
Or, “Yeah, a little wind, better use 2 products to control the frizz.”
Then, on the worst days: “Dude, don’t even bother, no matter what you do, you’re going to look like a hag all day long.”
Now, please don’t read this as complaining about my hair.
I have admitted that a bad hair these days is a hundred times better than a good bald day because, alas, there is no such thing as a good bald day. Ha. I crack myself up.
But seriously, until my hair is long enough to go into a ponytail, I probably won’t have a good hair day, so there’s that.
And let’s all face it, my hair takes up about 99.9% of my brain, pretty much 100% of the time. So…yeah.
Thursday, April 25, 2019
Hats and Hair
So yes, my hair is still growing.
It has its okay days and its really bad days.
I don’t yet really have any days that I’d call good hair days.
But hey, on the other hand, any day with hair is a good hair day, right?
Yes.
Because being bald is so much worse than the worst bad hair day.
One thing I did acknowledge last spring as I got to the point where I didn’t need to wear a hat in public was that even on the windiest days, my hair was short enough that it didn’t get in my face.
That was lovely.
Not lovely enough to keep it that short but still a definite benefit to super short hair.
These days it’s long enough to get in my face but not long enough to actually pull back to keep it out of my face.
You see my dilemma, right? It will probably be another six months or so before it’s long enough to go into a decent ponytail.
It needs trimmed desperately. I haven’t seen the inside of a beauty salon in about ten months.
I was lamenting the blowing of hair into my face at track meets – aside: Why do most tracks have to be build next to open fields? I mean, seriously? And if they HAVE to be built next to these open fields, why can’t the designers/engineers/whoever the hell plans and builds them plant some sturdy trees to act as a windbreak? - end aside.
So yes, I was lamenting and one of my lovely new co-workers suggested I get a visor to keep the hair out of my face.
And…sure. A visor would be perfect…if I were seventy or a playing tennis or both.
I know. I’m such a bitch. Whiny about my hair when I don’t have any (did I really ever actually complain about the baldness? I don’t remember making a huge deal about it.) Whiny about my hair now that it’s growing back. Whiny about someone’s perfectly legitimate suggestion of a visor.
See, back in May of last year, when I stopped wearing hats, I told myself that I never want to wear another hat in my life.
Of course, if I were to lose my hair to chemo again (please, God…let me not have to face and fight cancer again…amen) I would obviously wear hats again.
But for as long as I have hair, I do not want to wear hats.
And last weekend at a track meet we were facing gale force winds and I caved. I put on a hat. Not only did it keep my hair out of my face, it also kept me warm. Seriously, those winds were insane. I was surprised they didn’t cancel the pole vault, it was that bad.
And you know what? Wearing a hat was no big deal. There were lots of people wearing hats. It’s April in the Midwest, hats are probably kept in most vehicles until late May…just in case.
My mom did not wear a hat at that track meet but let’s face it, she’s even more vain about her hair than I am about mine so…progress?
It has its okay days and its really bad days.
I don’t yet really have any days that I’d call good hair days.
But hey, on the other hand, any day with hair is a good hair day, right?
Yes.
Because being bald is so much worse than the worst bad hair day.
One thing I did acknowledge last spring as I got to the point where I didn’t need to wear a hat in public was that even on the windiest days, my hair was short enough that it didn’t get in my face.
That was lovely.
Not lovely enough to keep it that short but still a definite benefit to super short hair.
These days it’s long enough to get in my face but not long enough to actually pull back to keep it out of my face.
You see my dilemma, right? It will probably be another six months or so before it’s long enough to go into a decent ponytail.
It needs trimmed desperately. I haven’t seen the inside of a beauty salon in about ten months.
I was lamenting the blowing of hair into my face at track meets – aside: Why do most tracks have to be build next to open fields? I mean, seriously? And if they HAVE to be built next to these open fields, why can’t the designers/engineers/whoever the hell plans and builds them plant some sturdy trees to act as a windbreak? - end aside.
So yes, I was lamenting and one of my lovely new co-workers suggested I get a visor to keep the hair out of my face.
And…sure. A visor would be perfect…if I were seventy or a playing tennis or both.
I know. I’m such a bitch. Whiny about my hair when I don’t have any (did I really ever actually complain about the baldness? I don’t remember making a huge deal about it.) Whiny about my hair now that it’s growing back. Whiny about someone’s perfectly legitimate suggestion of a visor.
See, back in May of last year, when I stopped wearing hats, I told myself that I never want to wear another hat in my life.
Of course, if I were to lose my hair to chemo again (please, God…let me not have to face and fight cancer again…amen) I would obviously wear hats again.
But for as long as I have hair, I do not want to wear hats.
And last weekend at a track meet we were facing gale force winds and I caved. I put on a hat. Not only did it keep my hair out of my face, it also kept me warm. Seriously, those winds were insane. I was surprised they didn’t cancel the pole vault, it was that bad.
And you know what? Wearing a hat was no big deal. There were lots of people wearing hats. It’s April in the Midwest, hats are probably kept in most vehicles until late May…just in case.
My mom did not wear a hat at that track meet but let’s face it, she’s even more vain about her hair than I am about mine so…progress?
Friday, December 14, 2018
Broken aka In Need of a Nap
On Thursday night after Olivia finished eating, Tom mentioned that there was some linguini in the fridge that he’d left for me.
I sighed (because I’m a drama queen) and said, “Alas, I cannot eat that. I’m out of mushrooms.”
“And you have to have mushrooms to eat the linguini?” he asked skeptically.
“Duh,” I replied.
He offered to drive to the local Family Dollar (four miles away) and get some canned mushrooms but that seemed like a lot of work for mushrooms. I delicately declined his generous offer.
A bit later, I lamented that I could not possibly go to Family Dollar myself because my hair was especially awful yesterday.
Tom looked at the mop perched upon my head and said, “But this is Edon. Your hair is perfectly normal for Edon.”
I was crushed. I blinked at him, as if holding back tears and said, “That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
He looked mildly confused so I continued, “How could you say that I have NORMAL Edon hair? Have you seen the Edon moms’ hair? I’m broken.”
And at that, I took to the couch and pulled a blanket over my horrifyingly ‘normal’ head.
Tom laughed and went about his business.
Ten minutes later, he came back into the living room to find me still on the couch.
He said something to Olivia and I told him, “I’m not actually pouting, I’m just resting.”
And then…I fell asleep for an hour. It was glorious! I haven’t had a nap in months. Maybe he should ‘hurt’ my feelings more often.
I sighed (because I’m a drama queen) and said, “Alas, I cannot eat that. I’m out of mushrooms.”
“And you have to have mushrooms to eat the linguini?” he asked skeptically.
“Duh,” I replied.
He offered to drive to the local Family Dollar (four miles away) and get some canned mushrooms but that seemed like a lot of work for mushrooms. I delicately declined his generous offer.
A bit later, I lamented that I could not possibly go to Family Dollar myself because my hair was especially awful yesterday.
Tom looked at the mop perched upon my head and said, “But this is Edon. Your hair is perfectly normal for Edon.”
I was crushed. I blinked at him, as if holding back tears and said, “That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
He looked mildly confused so I continued, “How could you say that I have NORMAL Edon hair? Have you seen the Edon moms’ hair? I’m broken.”
And at that, I took to the couch and pulled a blanket over my horrifyingly ‘normal’ head.
Tom laughed and went about his business.
Ten minutes later, he came back into the living room to find me still on the couch.
He said something to Olivia and I told him, “I’m not actually pouting, I’m just resting.”
And then…I fell asleep for an hour. It was glorious! I haven’t had a nap in months. Maybe he should ‘hurt’ my feelings more often.
Monday, November 5, 2018
The State of My Hair
Because everyone wants to know and also, but mostly, because it drives me crazy on a regular basis.
I actually can’t stand it. It’s awful.
I let it air dry one Saturday evening and the poof was out of control. It was so fluffy I thought it might fly right off my head and join a flock flying south for the winter.
The back…ugh. I wore a scarf one day last week and by the time I got home, the back of my stupid hair had been pushed up so far that it looked like a wig. It was high and out from my head.
The curls are just awful. The top and back is curly but he sides are not. So it’s just so stupid.
I recently threatened to ask one of my fellow Edon mom’s where she gets her hair cut just to put my hair and myself out of our misery.
Alyssa implored me to just fight through the awfulness. The only way to get past the horror story that is my current hair is to continue to let it grow. If I get it cut/trimmed, it will just keep being this short and this awful.
And so I bitch and moan daily about the trauma my hair is causing me.
All this to say, I know I’m lucky it’s growing back and that it’s coming back so thick and fluffy. I know things could be worse. Hell, they HAVE been worse. But it’s my hair and I’ll complain about it if I want to.
I actually can’t stand it. It’s awful.
I let it air dry one Saturday evening and the poof was out of control. It was so fluffy I thought it might fly right off my head and join a flock flying south for the winter.
The back…ugh. I wore a scarf one day last week and by the time I got home, the back of my stupid hair had been pushed up so far that it looked like a wig. It was high and out from my head.
The curls are just awful. The top and back is curly but he sides are not. So it’s just so stupid.
I recently threatened to ask one of my fellow Edon mom’s where she gets her hair cut just to put my hair and myself out of our misery.
Alyssa implored me to just fight through the awfulness. The only way to get past the horror story that is my current hair is to continue to let it grow. If I get it cut/trimmed, it will just keep being this short and this awful.
And so I bitch and moan daily about the trauma my hair is causing me.
All this to say, I know I’m lucky it’s growing back and that it’s coming back so thick and fluffy. I know things could be worse. Hell, they HAVE been worse. But it’s my hair and I’ll complain about it if I want to.
Friday, September 21, 2018
The Ugly Spectrum
I’ve been having a lot of angst about my hair. I know. I KNOW! I’m so lucky to have hair to be stressed about. I know this.
And yet, I have to look in the mirror every single day, several times a day and I have to see my hair and it’s awful.
Tom told me recently that I am the only person in this entire world who thinks my hair is horrible.
I know he’s right and yet, as I told him, I’m also the only person who has to look at myself every day. I hate it so much right now.
Next week? I might love it. Probably not but it could happen.
See, here’s the thing. Ugly is a spectrum. There are different levels or stages of ugly, if you will. Right now, I’m on the very far end of the ugliest stage of ugly. I’m not happy at all.
Next week, I will be somewhere else on the Ugly Spectrum. I hope to inch my way up toward the Less Ugly end but who knows.
There is a spectrum of pretty too, but I’m nowhere near that one. I hope to get back on it at some point but I’m not holding my breath.
I realize that everyone out there (if anyone were reading this) would tell me I’m being ridiculous. I know I am. But I can’t help it. I can’t look at myself and see anything but the far end of the ugly spectrum. It’s sad really. I’m kind of sad, actually.
But I keep reminding myself that I’m so lucky. I’m alive. I have hair. Heck, one of my biggest complaints is that it’s thick and unruly. I realize how stupid that is. People WANT thick hair. Hell, I want thick hair. But not THIS particular thick hair, at least not today.
I’m ridiculous. I might be crazy. I know this is all residual issues relating to cancer and cancer treatment and figuring how to live after all that. My hair is just the most visible thing I have to focus on right now. I can’t focus on my stupid boobs, I can’t stop potential cancer from growing again. But I can bitch about my hair from now until next Tuesday. I can obsess about the stupid curl at the back of my head on the right side. I can worry that I’m starting to edge into mullet territory. I can think about when I’ll need to dye my gray roots again.
Hair is trivial, which is why I’m making such a big deal about it. The big stuff, the stuff that really scares the hell out of me, I can’t control any of that. I can, sort of, control my hair. So that’s what I cry about. If I were to start crying about cancer and all it entails, I might never stop.
And yet, I have to look in the mirror every single day, several times a day and I have to see my hair and it’s awful.
Tom told me recently that I am the only person in this entire world who thinks my hair is horrible.
I know he’s right and yet, as I told him, I’m also the only person who has to look at myself every day. I hate it so much right now.
Next week? I might love it. Probably not but it could happen.
See, here’s the thing. Ugly is a spectrum. There are different levels or stages of ugly, if you will. Right now, I’m on the very far end of the ugliest stage of ugly. I’m not happy at all.
Next week, I will be somewhere else on the Ugly Spectrum. I hope to inch my way up toward the Less Ugly end but who knows.
There is a spectrum of pretty too, but I’m nowhere near that one. I hope to get back on it at some point but I’m not holding my breath.
I realize that everyone out there (if anyone were reading this) would tell me I’m being ridiculous. I know I am. But I can’t help it. I can’t look at myself and see anything but the far end of the ugly spectrum. It’s sad really. I’m kind of sad, actually.
But I keep reminding myself that I’m so lucky. I’m alive. I have hair. Heck, one of my biggest complaints is that it’s thick and unruly. I realize how stupid that is. People WANT thick hair. Hell, I want thick hair. But not THIS particular thick hair, at least not today.
I’m ridiculous. I might be crazy. I know this is all residual issues relating to cancer and cancer treatment and figuring how to live after all that. My hair is just the most visible thing I have to focus on right now. I can’t focus on my stupid boobs, I can’t stop potential cancer from growing again. But I can bitch about my hair from now until next Tuesday. I can obsess about the stupid curl at the back of my head on the right side. I can worry that I’m starting to edge into mullet territory. I can think about when I’ll need to dye my gray roots again.
Hair is trivial, which is why I’m making such a big deal about it. The big stuff, the stuff that really scares the hell out of me, I can’t control any of that. I can, sort of, control my hair. So that’s what I cry about. If I were to start crying about cancer and all it entails, I might never stop.
Wednesday, September 12, 2018
How's My Hair?
Okay, so it’s been 27 weeks since my last chemo. My hair has been trimmed twice by Auntie Lorry. I colored it about eleven days ago. So much better. At least I think so and I’m the one who has to look in the mirror each day, so there you go. I would say that about 90% of people, even when not asked, would tell me that they’d keep the white/gray hair if they were me. The other 10% told me that they got it, they’d dye it too. I love those who embrace aging and all the signs, go you! But I can’t, not yet. Someday, maybe.
Since I have neglected this place and not updated weekly as I once said I would, here are the last many weeks of How’s My Hair Wednesday pictures. It’s kind of cool to see them all in one place, to see how far my hair has come.
I’m grateful for the growth but reserve the right to complain about it as much as I want. I know how lucky I am but am still able to appreciate the horror that is my hair some days.
Here we go from thirteen weeks post chemo to now:
Since I have neglected this place and not updated weekly as I once said I would, here are the last many weeks of How’s My Hair Wednesday pictures. It’s kind of cool to see them all in one place, to see how far my hair has come.
I’m grateful for the growth but reserve the right to complain about it as much as I want. I know how lucky I am but am still able to appreciate the horror that is my hair some days.
Here we go from thirteen weeks post chemo to now:
Sunday, June 10, 2018
Recovery
I had my last radiation treatment just over three weeks ago. My last chemotherapy treatment was about 13 and a half weeks ago. How are things so far?
Well, I can't drink Coke anymore. There is this awful chemical aftertaste and it's just gross. The dry mouth is gone but I still have a weird metallic taste in my mouth, almost like blood. Fruit flavored things, you know, like fruit and stuff, tastes good so I frequent McD's a lot for their seasonal Tropic Twist flavored Slushie. Delicious and refreshing and yay, not aftertaste.
The numbness in my fingers and toes has abated. I can put earrings in Olivia's ears without dropping both earrings and both backs in the process. I call that progress.
My hair is obviously coming back.
The burn on my incision that was so awful there at the end of the treatments is healed. No more seeping, no more redness. The scar from my port is actually taking longer to heal than the burn from radiation. So there's that.
I don't need quite as much sleep as I was needing there at the end of radiation. Sure, I still like to sleep a lot but I don't need to as much. Shhhh, don't tell Tom.
I'm good. I'm lucky. I'm blessed, if you will.
Well, I can't drink Coke anymore. There is this awful chemical aftertaste and it's just gross. The dry mouth is gone but I still have a weird metallic taste in my mouth, almost like blood. Fruit flavored things, you know, like fruit and stuff, tastes good so I frequent McD's a lot for their seasonal Tropic Twist flavored Slushie. Delicious and refreshing and yay, not aftertaste.
The numbness in my fingers and toes has abated. I can put earrings in Olivia's ears without dropping both earrings and both backs in the process. I call that progress.
My hair is obviously coming back.
The burn on my incision that was so awful there at the end of the treatments is healed. No more seeping, no more redness. The scar from my port is actually taking longer to heal than the burn from radiation. So there's that.
I don't need quite as much sleep as I was needing there at the end of radiation. Sure, I still like to sleep a lot but I don't need to as much. Shhhh, don't tell Tom.
I'm good. I'm lucky. I'm blessed, if you will.
Sunday, April 8, 2018
Out of the Mouths of Babes
Last weekend (Easter weekend) my mom invited me and the girls over to her house on Good Friday to dye eggs with Jaxon, Connor and Sabella, my cousin's daughter.
This was the first time Sabella saw me without a hat since losing my hair. She asked me what happened to my hair. I told her I'd had to take some medicine that made my hair fall out. She took that as a good enough answer and went back to her eggs.
Later, she glanced up at me and informed me, "You look like Zordon."
I had no idea who Zordon was so I just accepted her word for it.
It turns out that Zordon is the mentor of the Power Rangers. Good to know. We googled images of Zordon and...wow, the resemblance is uncanny.
I'm considering changing my profile picture to this:
I mean...I'm not sure anyone would even realize it isn't me in the above picture. Hahaha. I do so love the honesty of children. They're so refreshing.
Speaking of my hair, I tried to take a picture of the epic case of hat head I happened to have on Friday but it didn't photograph well. But trust me, it was awesome.
This was the first time Sabella saw me without a hat since losing my hair. She asked me what happened to my hair. I told her I'd had to take some medicine that made my hair fall out. She took that as a good enough answer and went back to her eggs.
Later, she glanced up at me and informed me, "You look like Zordon."
I had no idea who Zordon was so I just accepted her word for it.
It turns out that Zordon is the mentor of the Power Rangers. Good to know. We googled images of Zordon and...wow, the resemblance is uncanny.
I'm considering changing my profile picture to this:
I mean...I'm not sure anyone would even realize it isn't me in the above picture. Hahaha. I do so love the honesty of children. They're so refreshing.
Speaking of my hair, I tried to take a picture of the epic case of hat head I happened to have on Friday but it didn't photograph well. But trust me, it was awesome.
Sunday, April 1, 2018
Sprigs
Okay, so I've been posting weekly pictures of my hair. I've been posting them here, on FB and on Instagram. Part of the reason I'm doing this is because I like having a record of how things are going. And yes, it's funny. I mean, I have like seven sprigs of hair on the top of my head but damn if they're not growing.
My mom swears that this is exactly how my hair grew in when I was a baby/toddler. She says I was bald until I was almost two and when my hair did finally make an appearance the last place it grew was on the top of my head. So...okay, it's coming.
But right now I feel like I look like a dude with male-pattern baldness. The hair on the sides and the back of my head is pretty thick. At least thick enough that you can't really see my scalp much anymore. But the top? It's shiny and well, kind of ugly.
Just saying.
I try to post each week without using Snapchat filters because I want to be real and honest. But I'm getting a little tired of real and honest. I know it's just hair. I know it's growing every day and new sprigs are probably popping up. But from week to week, even though the comments on FB are so kind and nice about how fast it's growing, I don't see much difference. I still see my scalp and I'm tired of it.
I don't know where I'm going with this. I guess I'm just keeping it real. Even though I can laugh about it, there are moments when I get discouraged and frustrated and just want this whole cancer chapter of my life to be over.
But you know by Wednesday, I'll be over this little moment in time and will post yet another "How's My Hair" pic. It's what I do.
And on the slightly brighter side, on Saturday, I had serious bedhead (even though I was awake from 2am to 7am watching Sharknado movies...I think my ear infection was keeping me awake) and kept complaining about how messy the left side of my hair was. I looked like a freaking baby chicken. My sweet Alyssa protested that I did NOT look like a chicken but I think she just looks at me through the eyes of love and couldn't see the mess that was on my head.
This too will pass and I will continue to laugh about more than I lament it. But I want to continue to be honest about it all, the laughter AND the lamenting. If I can't do that then what's the point?
My mom swears that this is exactly how my hair grew in when I was a baby/toddler. She says I was bald until I was almost two and when my hair did finally make an appearance the last place it grew was on the top of my head. So...okay, it's coming.
But right now I feel like I look like a dude with male-pattern baldness. The hair on the sides and the back of my head is pretty thick. At least thick enough that you can't really see my scalp much anymore. But the top? It's shiny and well, kind of ugly.
Just saying.
I try to post each week without using Snapchat filters because I want to be real and honest. But I'm getting a little tired of real and honest. I know it's just hair. I know it's growing every day and new sprigs are probably popping up. But from week to week, even though the comments on FB are so kind and nice about how fast it's growing, I don't see much difference. I still see my scalp and I'm tired of it.
I don't know where I'm going with this. I guess I'm just keeping it real. Even though I can laugh about it, there are moments when I get discouraged and frustrated and just want this whole cancer chapter of my life to be over.
But you know by Wednesday, I'll be over this little moment in time and will post yet another "How's My Hair" pic. It's what I do.
And on the slightly brighter side, on Saturday, I had serious bedhead (even though I was awake from 2am to 7am watching Sharknado movies...I think my ear infection was keeping me awake) and kept complaining about how messy the left side of my hair was. I looked like a freaking baby chicken. My sweet Alyssa protested that I did NOT look like a chicken but I think she just looks at me through the eyes of love and couldn't see the mess that was on my head.
This too will pass and I will continue to laugh about more than I lament it. But I want to continue to be honest about it all, the laughter AND the lamenting. If I can't do that then what's the point?
Wednesday, March 14, 2018
Wednesday, March 7, 2018
How's My Hair Wednesday - Day 1
Today is Day 1 after chemo. I'm going to take weekly pictures of my hair growth and post them. I hope it will be fun for all to see how my hair grows now the the poison of chemo is no longer being pumped into my body.
So...here goes. The state of my hair on Day 1 after chemo:
So...here goes. The state of my hair on Day 1 after chemo:
Sunday, December 31, 2017
Worst Case Scenario
Back when I first starting having pain in the upper outer quadrant of my left breast, I figured, "It can't possibly cancer."
I mean, that would be the worst case scenario, right?
Then, when the doctor felt the thickening and sent me for an ultrasound I still thought there was no way it was cancer. Other people get cancer, but not me and those closest to me.
The day of the ultrasound, they found the mass. They did a biopsy that day. Still, it couldn't be cancer. I mean, I have two kids who need me. I have parents who would be devastated to lose me. Yes, I'm just like every other woman in the world who has loved ones but still, it couldn't be cancer. Heck, even the doctor who talked to me on the phone the day of the ultrasound and biopsy told me the chances of it being cancer were very small.
The weekend after the ultrasound/biopsy, I told my mom often that the chances of my mass being cancer were very small. I was just sure it was nothing.
It was something. When I saw that I had a missed call from my doctor on Sunday afternoon, I knew. I mean...doctors don't call on a Sunday with good news. I had time to brace myself for the news. The worst case scenario news.
Except...even though it's triple negative cancer, it wasn't the worst case scenario. Sure, cancer is a hard word to hear but being told it's stage 1 helps. The mass was small, we'd caught it early.
Every step of the way from the day of diagnosis until now has worked out in a 'best-case-scenario' kind of way.
When I met with the oncologist and we discussed the plan of action for my treatment, he told me, "This chemo will make you lose your hair."
Okay.
I was okay with that. I told myself my hair was a small price to pay to buy decades of life and health with my family.
But deep down, the thought of being bald bothered me. Wouldn't it bother most people?
And get this...not all chemotherapy drugs make you lose your hair. Why did I have to have one of them that practically guarantees it? I didn't lament this long but I confess that I did think about it more than I wanted to.
But you know what? The worst case scenario of losing my hair hasn't been so bad. Now that it's gone, it's just...not a big deal. I look at myself every single day and it's not a big deal. It's just hair. It will probably grow back.
I'm living through a couple of worst case scenarios here. What I take away from that sentence is that I'm living. I'm here. I'm fighting for years with my girls, with my husband, who has been a champion caregiver. I'm getting years with my parents and my brothers. I'm alive and I'm still fighting. Cancer hasn't beaten me physically and baldness hasn't beaten me emotionally.
It's amazing when the worst case scenarios come true and you realize that they aren't nearly as scary as you thought they would be. You just keep on getting up each day and living your life. The worry before the diagnosis was worse than living day to day with the diagnosis.
Maybe I can take that forward with me into 2018. I'm definitely going to try.
Here I am...all bald and handling it just fine:
I mean, that would be the worst case scenario, right?
Then, when the doctor felt the thickening and sent me for an ultrasound I still thought there was no way it was cancer. Other people get cancer, but not me and those closest to me.
The day of the ultrasound, they found the mass. They did a biopsy that day. Still, it couldn't be cancer. I mean, I have two kids who need me. I have parents who would be devastated to lose me. Yes, I'm just like every other woman in the world who has loved ones but still, it couldn't be cancer. Heck, even the doctor who talked to me on the phone the day of the ultrasound and biopsy told me the chances of it being cancer were very small.
The weekend after the ultrasound/biopsy, I told my mom often that the chances of my mass being cancer were very small. I was just sure it was nothing.
It was something. When I saw that I had a missed call from my doctor on Sunday afternoon, I knew. I mean...doctors don't call on a Sunday with good news. I had time to brace myself for the news. The worst case scenario news.
Except...even though it's triple negative cancer, it wasn't the worst case scenario. Sure, cancer is a hard word to hear but being told it's stage 1 helps. The mass was small, we'd caught it early.
Every step of the way from the day of diagnosis until now has worked out in a 'best-case-scenario' kind of way.
When I met with the oncologist and we discussed the plan of action for my treatment, he told me, "This chemo will make you lose your hair."
Okay.
I was okay with that. I told myself my hair was a small price to pay to buy decades of life and health with my family.
But deep down, the thought of being bald bothered me. Wouldn't it bother most people?
And get this...not all chemotherapy drugs make you lose your hair. Why did I have to have one of them that practically guarantees it? I didn't lament this long but I confess that I did think about it more than I wanted to.
But you know what? The worst case scenario of losing my hair hasn't been so bad. Now that it's gone, it's just...not a big deal. I look at myself every single day and it's not a big deal. It's just hair. It will probably grow back.
I'm living through a couple of worst case scenarios here. What I take away from that sentence is that I'm living. I'm here. I'm fighting for years with my girls, with my husband, who has been a champion caregiver. I'm getting years with my parents and my brothers. I'm alive and I'm still fighting. Cancer hasn't beaten me physically and baldness hasn't beaten me emotionally.
It's amazing when the worst case scenarios come true and you realize that they aren't nearly as scary as you thought they would be. You just keep on getting up each day and living your life. The worry before the diagnosis was worse than living day to day with the diagnosis.
Maybe I can take that forward with me into 2018. I'm definitely going to try.
Here I am...all bald and handling it just fine:
Monday, November 13, 2017
Another Post about My Hair
Okay, one of these days I will stop talking about my hair. Maybe. No promises.
Did I mention that we used Tom’s clippers last week and buzzed it off? Yes? Okay, sorry for repeating myself but it’s worth it to declare how much freer I feel now that it’s gone.
I hate being a slave to my hair. That’s what I felt like last week. My hair was all I could think about. Had more fallen out? Was it poking out of my hat? Was it all over my shoulders? Was it going to fall into my food?
Thoughts of my stupid hair consumed me.
So I took control. We cut it off at the root, if you will.
There is still quite a bit on my head, acting as a sort of Velcro for my hats.
But it’s no longer the thing I think about constantly.
So I guess what I’m saying is, if you’re facing chemo and thinning hair, when the hair has taken over all your thoughts, go for it. Shave that stuff off. You will feel twenty pounds lighter, metaphorically.
I feel free and light and like I can get on with my life without policing a near-constant steam of hair falling from my head. For what it’s worth.
Did I mention that we used Tom’s clippers last week and buzzed it off? Yes? Okay, sorry for repeating myself but it’s worth it to declare how much freer I feel now that it’s gone.
I hate being a slave to my hair. That’s what I felt like last week. My hair was all I could think about. Had more fallen out? Was it poking out of my hat? Was it all over my shoulders? Was it going to fall into my food?
Thoughts of my stupid hair consumed me.
So I took control. We cut it off at the root, if you will.
There is still quite a bit on my head, acting as a sort of Velcro for my hats.
But it’s no longer the thing I think about constantly.
So I guess what I’m saying is, if you’re facing chemo and thinning hair, when the hair has taken over all your thoughts, go for it. Shave that stuff off. You will feel twenty pounds lighter, metaphorically.
I feel free and light and like I can get on with my life without policing a near-constant steam of hair falling from my head. For what it’s worth.
Monday, October 30, 2017
The Evolution of My Hair
Remember when I got that horrible haircut back in, what was it? 2013? Wait, let me check. Okay, so it was the Monday before Christmas 2014. Thank goodness for archives.
Yes, I got that horrible haircut at the Walmart Salon. I know, you get what you pay for. Then I let it grow out from that point on, with a quick trim here and there from the one and only Alyssa J. Ordinary.
Well, as we all know, chemotherapy often (usually?) makes one’s hair fall out.
My oncologist has pretty much guaranteed that my hair will fall out.
So this past weekend, we took a journey to Battle Creek, Michigan where my lovely Auntie Lorry cut my hair so that the cleanup (Tom has an issue with hair in the drains of our tubs and showers… ) will be easier .
Alyssa took picture before, during and after the epic evolution of my hair.
Before:
During:
Let me state here that I thought I’d hate my hair being this short. I mean, I have this HUGE round moon face and I worried so that short hair would just emphasize that. Though, honestly, it’s not like my hair did all that much camouflaging of my giant moon face when it was in a ponytail, which was like, ALWAYS the case.
But here it is after:
And guess what? I don’t hate it.
It helps that Lorry did an excellent job with the cut. She took so much care and time to get it just the way she (and I) wanted it. She’s the BEST.
Yes, I got that horrible haircut at the Walmart Salon. I know, you get what you pay for. Then I let it grow out from that point on, with a quick trim here and there from the one and only Alyssa J. Ordinary.
Well, as we all know, chemotherapy often (usually?) makes one’s hair fall out.
My oncologist has pretty much guaranteed that my hair will fall out.
So this past weekend, we took a journey to Battle Creek, Michigan where my lovely Auntie Lorry cut my hair so that the cleanup (Tom has an issue with hair in the drains of our tubs and showers… ) will be easier .
Alyssa took picture before, during and after the epic evolution of my hair.
Before:
During:
Let me state here that I thought I’d hate my hair being this short. I mean, I have this HUGE round moon face and I worried so that short hair would just emphasize that. Though, honestly, it’s not like my hair did all that much camouflaging of my giant moon face when it was in a ponytail, which was like, ALWAYS the case.
But here it is after:
And guess what? I don’t hate it.
It helps that Lorry did an excellent job with the cut. She took so much care and time to get it just the way she (and I) wanted it. She’s the BEST.
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