So if you know me, you know that I’m oddly attracted to numbers, stats and all kinds of nerdy non-artistic numerical meanderings. So it should come as no surprise that once my hair started falling out on Sunday, I started trying to predict when & how I would handle that.
I started this process relatively positively, outside the first couple of days when I was in shock & denial, from about day 4 on I really have tried to take power in my choices, decisions and feelings.
I handled deciding on which surgeon, which oncologist and team would handle my care.
I have diligently but not obsessively researched the latest and greatest in breast cancer research.
I've altered for the better my nutrition.
I’ve handled chemo and the relatively minor side effects pretty damn good.
So, naturally my early plan was to absolutely do the same with the loss of my hair.
But then yesterday, as day 2 of it falling out began, I started making deals.
You know the kind; “Ok, God, can you just give me to this weekend for Amy’s wedding, I just need 5 more days, I promise not to complain anymore.”
But then the number geek in me kicked in, and I counted the hairs that had just come out with one simple stroke of my bangs…and then the calculating began.
Not going to make it til Saturday, no way, no how. Unless I want to look like one of those voodoo dolls. Uh no. Way too creepy.