I'm trying this a second time. It is difficult because I poured it out yesterday and I don't feel the same way today. But here's an attempt. (I just reread it and it is obviously hurried. Sorry).
Thursday night I went to bed confident. I had told a friend "I can do this." Apparently, I changed my mind when my head hit the pillow. At first it didn't make sense and then it did. I associate sleeping with my hair. The last thing I do everything night as I settle into bed is pull my hair off my neck so my neck lays bare on the pillow.
Oh, and I just sobbed. Buckets and buckets. Poor Jim didn't see the atmospheric shift and couldn't figure out what happened. That was Thursday night.
Friday morning was worse. I woke, after a terrible night's sleep, sad and to a quiet house. Jim and Miles had kindly (but that morning tragically) let me sleep. But the quiet house just unnerved me. I am generally a relatively quiet and solitary creature, but these days I need company in a way I never had before.
I forced myself up and out of the house and made a deal with myself that I could cry until I got in the car. I was late for work and hurried into the office.
I had some sensitive things to take care of at the office. They required some kindness and finesse and were wonderfully distracting.
By noon, it was time to leave the office. My hair (removal) appointment was at three. My work was done. And the sadness was back.
I did something that I'd just never do. I asked a friend if she was home and if so, if I could come over for tea and a sandwich. I am just not (or was not) someone who would ever ask someone to feed and care for me. But I am so glad I did.
I went to lunch sad and empty in every way. I left a different person. An hour or two of company, food, the opportunity to bury some sentences and then talk about something else with friends was transformative. It literallly turned a gray, dark and bad day of all bad days into a special afternoon.
And despite the ugly job ahead, the day went wild and up from there.
I left lunch to meet up with Jim. Jim had not had the benefit of a transformative lunch and was in a low functioning, deeply grieving, hard-of-hearing, nodding-but-not-with-you kindof way. The two of us went to pick up our dear friend - who despite having had the hardest of day's herself - insisted on joining us for the hair appointment.
This friend, who'd held our hands and coaxed us through the first chemo appointment, had slipped on an icy patch that morning, spent the better part of the day in the ER and returned home with several broken ribs. But she was coming with us. Period.
We were this sorry, magical lot. Me, monosyllabic. Jim, riddled with grief at the day's work. Friend, gingerly, carefully, uncomfortably, but for damn sure, guiding us along.
We got to the hair appointment and it was just comedy in the way that Spies Like Us was funny. It was so awful in every way that we had a great time. The salon was a riot. The customers were a riot. The absurdity of the head shave was a riot. For the record, the man who helped us was a saint. He does ten of these appointments a week, could not have handled us more carefully and professionally, and just made an ugly job seem elegant. That is hard to do.
I guess the bottom line is this awful thing we set out to do was not so bad and actually became an incredible time with people that are important to me because we were comically all banged up but didn't take ourselves too seriously.
And most brilliantly, we punted. After much discussion, we postponed Demi Moore's headshave for a pixie. I'm currently a dead-ringer for Pink, Michelle Williams and Mia Farrow, but with my face, my body and one bad right breast. The actual tradegy is that the clippers are still ahead of me (probably less than a week). But, hey, why do all the hard work in one day when it can be spread over several.
Incidentally, if you are wondering how impossibly hard it is to give up your hair, I'll tell you. I wasn't strong enough. I brought it home with me in a ziplock bag. I know this will seem odd to most. I just needed it. I need it in case my boys someday need something that is tangibly me. My goal is proudly but easily toss this into the trash someday. But not for a long (cancer-free) time.
Anyway, I also brought home two wigs. They look pretty good to me. And I think that is saything something because I thought my (gray) hair was the bomb.
With a couple of extra days since Friday under my belt, I can report on the boys. This has been added to the insult to injury list in terms of Ian. He is six months. Recognition is a big developmental step and he is confused by this lady whose hair doesn't fall onto and tickle his face who happens to have his mother's voice. Sadly, this isn't just me being sensitive. I can see it in his expression. I guess the upside is when I put on the wig I get the worlds biggest smile. The downside: the pixie, the baldness, the bandana at home all currently appear ready to replace the world's biggest smile with a tepid one. Add that to the fucked up things about cancer list.
Miles, however, has delivered. The haircut looks "silly" to him. But aside from that, I am a thousand percent momma. And he likes the wigs too. They look just like your hair, momma. He even used the word blond. Too late, buddy. Don't try to butter me up, now.
Two other points that I made in the original blog and should be noted here. First, we ended our day in another friend's house after this person I am becoming asked her to feed and care for us. Technically, I asked if we could play Cards Against Humanity and have a night of diversion and those dirty birds delivered. Seriously, it was so nice to have some cancer-free fun with people that matter to us.
Second, you people are amazing. I just can't believe how you are supporting us. Notes, and notes, and flowers, deliveries of favorite foods and well-considered kind things from the past, hand-and-beautifully made dangly earrings (made by the granddaughter of a grandmother who rocked dangly earrnings with her bald beauitful head), books to train my mind to influence and shape the world (that's right), water bottles, food deliveries.
To wrap it, I know this doesn't make sense, but I am so thankful. I am thankful for Friday, which was this awful, spirit-crushing day that turned into a long, rich and enriched gift of day. I don't know where it came from, but I am glad it found me. And finally, I know I have cancer, but you people have made me fat and happy and I thank you.
