I Have Hair. And it’s Glorious.

Okay maybe it’s not exactly “glorious” but considering my hair situation last Fall it’s pretty damn nice.  I can finally say I have a real hairdo, and that’s not to say I didn’t rock The Caesar, but I no longer feel like strangers might be giving me the side eyes. My post-chemo hair is way curlier than my before chemo hair too. Apparently “chemo curl” is a thing. Most chemo patients get this soft curly baby fine hair. I’ve googled to try and see if I might keep the curls but the internet as usual has no definitive answers.  As most of you know I was lamenting the fact that my hairdresser wouldn’t color my new growth of battle-ax gray hair until last month because she feared it would be all fucked up after chemo, and even then she said we should do a conservative brown. But, I trust her judgment and better to be safe than sorry with orange hair. Well today I threw caution to the wind and she made it kind of red.  I’ve gone to her for about 16 years and she always does an awesome job so she’s not allowed to move or retire.

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If I’m keeping it real, I was actually okay with being bald.  I really didn’t give two shits. When it fell out and Tomas shaved my head I was all “BFD you can have my hair, asshole cancer.” Same thing with the boobs. “Good riddance.” But when treatment concluded I was like “okay I’ve pretty much lost everything that makes me a woman. Eff me.”  I want my hair and I want my boobs.  In theory I know it’s what’s inside that counts and hair and breasts aren’t the sum total of my femininity but I’m telling you, in reality, IT’S HARD. So with my new hair, I can feel just a little bit more like a normal girl again.

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