More than 24 hours after chemo finished yesterday, I still haven’t lost any hair. Maybe it won’t happen. Ya think there’s any chance of that? Maybe I’ll be one of those follicle-resistant types?
Today I met up with three of my favorite peeps—Random Sunshine™, Loveliest Lori, and Kim F’n—for some wig shopping fun. Unfortunately, Random Sunshine™ had to leave early (stoopid responsibility called), but it might have been best because the wig shop would have been way crowded if all of us had been there. However, we did all have a nice lunch together with funny stories and Facebook friend gossip—if you felt your ears burning this afternoon, it was all because of us.
I found the wig shop in the phone directory and knew nothing about it. Having never been wig shopping, I’m not sure any of us knew what to expect anyway. When we pulled into the parking lot and saw it shared store space with one of those payday loan places with bars on the windows, we were ready to turn around. Lori made Kim run in to check it out, and Kim deemed it safe because “there were three ladies in there.” Kim’s safety standards might be kinda low. ‘Specially because one of the ladies looked like this:
Just a word of advice to wig shop employees: if you’re wearing a wig, you’re advertising what you’re selling and IT SHOULD FRIGGIN’ FIT.
I’m being a little unfair, though, because both women who helped us were really quite nice. When we first walked in and they asked why we were looking for wigs, Lori said, “chemotherapy,” and one of the ladies goes, “oh, shee-it!” As though we were the first ones who ever needed a wig for such a thing. Or maybe she thought we were all much too beautiful to lose our hair. Or maybe she just thought Lori was.
The girls helped me pick out a few wigs that were close to my natural color and current length, and the wig expert ladies used a lot of terminology that meant nothing to us. The weirdest thing to me was how they all felt like Barbie hair. Well, that, and how every wig looked super mullet-y when I first put it on. Wigs are just strange.
We all agreed on one that is a little longer than my current length, straight, and with bangs. I’ll probably have my hairdresser trim it up a little but otherwise it’s pretty cute as it is. They also offered us a free choice from a bin in which former cancer patients have donated back their wigs. Sketchy sounding, no? But apparently they’d all been cleaned well. They wouldn’t let me try any on, so we just looked for the ones NOT marked “pixie” and grabbed. When I got home and tried it, I was surprised—it was totally cute, and I like it almost better than the one I paid for.
Loveliest Lori also bought me two newsboy hats. I think she’s going to want to borrow them. They’re very cute. Thank you, Loveliest Lori! And thank you for lunch, too!
When I got home, I found another new surprise for my head: Fancy Lori™ had brought over a hat she knitted for me! It’s my favorite shade of red with little bits of other colors here and there, and I LOVE it. Way better than that weird grey thing the nurses shoved in my hands yesterday. It’ll be perfect for those days when I don’t feel like wiggin’ it up and just want to cover my dented, scarred head. Thank you, Fancy Lori™!
I have to admit, the wig shopping—as fun as the idea was—kinda bummed me out. It was just another view into this new reality ahead. Me no likey. It’d have been way funner if it hadn’t been necessary. (And yes, I just used “funner” as though it’s a real word.)
I’ll lose my eyebrows, my eye lashes… what do you wanna bet that the only hair that hangs on is the big, coarse black one that periodically grows out of my neck? The one that, several winters ago when I frequently wore turtlenecks, was long enough to wrap around my finger by the time I finally noticed it? That one. It’s a stubborn little sucker.
But then, so am I.
I wish I could be rich so I can have all the Legos 
Riddle me this. What good is being married if your husband doesn't tell you when you have a big black hair growing out of your neck? Hm?
