Friday afternoon was one of the most enjoyable days I've had in a long time. After my appointment with Dr. Griffin, Jess and I went wig shopping. REAL wig shopping - not Krusty the Clown shopping! And whenever Jess and I shop for anything, wine is usually involved.
Two wig shops and one sports bar later, I am the proud owner of a new hairpiece. My first inclination was to be bold and fun. I wanted to sport something different than I ever have. But the afternoon proved to me that some people are born with the hair they have for a reason. My new 'do isn't too different from the hair I've sported since 8th grade (when the Sun-In finally grew out that is). Long and brown. It's straight though, unlike my natural hair - so I guess that's as bold as I can go. The truth is though, I'm just not meant to be a blond or a redhead. Short bangs are sooooooo not for me - actually, short short hair is soooo not for me either. Which makes me concerned about how I'm going to look when my hair finally grows back. I keep hearing that chemo makes hair grow back thicker and curlier. All I can picture is me singing "I Will Survive" at a karaoke bar this time next year if that truly is the case.
When I finally made my way home that afternoon I was excited to show Reagan my "real" wig. Just as I suspected, she thinks it's totally cool. We sat on my bed with a bowl of snacks while we brushed the wig and both tried it on. It was then that she brought up a few questions that apparently had been on her mind.
She asked if it will hurt when my hair falls out. She asked if it hurt when the doctors cut me open when I was in the hospital. She asked why my boobie got sick. And she asked if her boobie was going to get sick someday.
Matt and I pride ourselves on always being open and honest with her, so I didn't shy away from these questions. The last one was brutal for me to answer without crying though. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the simple fact that I know I CANNOT cry during these chats - but whatever it was, somehow I was able to have this conversation with her and not cry. She said she was okay with my answers and that she felt better after.
A few weeks ago I asked her if I should wait for the medicine to make my hair fall out, or if we should shave it first. She immediately responded "Let the medicine do it!" Even though she's only 4, I've decided to follow her advice on this one. I've struggled with it for weeks now, and read different philosophies on why I should shave it first, or why not. Similar to the clown wig - if that's what will help her be okay with this, then that's what I'm going to do. And who knows.. maybe I'll be part of the 5% who don't lose their hair anyway!
Two wig shops and one sports bar later, I am the proud owner of a new hairpiece. My first inclination was to be bold and fun. I wanted to sport something different than I ever have. But the afternoon proved to me that some people are born with the hair they have for a reason. My new 'do isn't too different from the hair I've sported since 8th grade (when the Sun-In finally grew out that is). Long and brown. It's straight though, unlike my natural hair - so I guess that's as bold as I can go. The truth is though, I'm just not meant to be a blond or a redhead. Short bangs are sooooooo not for me - actually, short short hair is soooo not for me either. Which makes me concerned about how I'm going to look when my hair finally grows back. I keep hearing that chemo makes hair grow back thicker and curlier. All I can picture is me singing "I Will Survive" at a karaoke bar this time next year if that truly is the case.
When I finally made my way home that afternoon I was excited to show Reagan my "real" wig. Just as I suspected, she thinks it's totally cool. We sat on my bed with a bowl of snacks while we brushed the wig and both tried it on. It was then that she brought up a few questions that apparently had been on her mind.
She asked if it will hurt when my hair falls out. She asked if it hurt when the doctors cut me open when I was in the hospital. She asked why my boobie got sick. And she asked if her boobie was going to get sick someday.
Matt and I pride ourselves on always being open and honest with her, so I didn't shy away from these questions. The last one was brutal for me to answer without crying though. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the simple fact that I know I CANNOT cry during these chats - but whatever it was, somehow I was able to have this conversation with her and not cry. She said she was okay with my answers and that she felt better after.
A few weeks ago I asked her if I should wait for the medicine to make my hair fall out, or if we should shave it first. She immediately responded "Let the medicine do it!" Even though she's only 4, I've decided to follow her advice on this one. I've struggled with it for weeks now, and read different philosophies on why I should shave it first, or why not. Similar to the clown wig - if that's what will help her be okay with this, then that's what I'm going to do. And who knows.. maybe I'll be part of the 5% who don't lose their hair anyway!
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