ALMOST BALD

Joan Rivers is one of my all-time favorite comedians. She has a documentary called: "A piece of work" which highlights just how much work being funny actually is. She works her ass off at funny. Ok, she gets it surgically worked off, but that would be a joke to her. She writes down every single joke she has ever written on a card and catalogs them in an extensive, alphabetized, wit-filled cabinet. P being her largest section. 

I bring this up because it's hard to be funny or make light of a situation that is gut-wrenchingly painful. You have to work at it. 

My wrecking ball to the heart came last night. I was forced to shave down my hair to a near bald becuase it was falling out everywhere: bed; cushions; towels; tables and food. Campbell's Vegetable and Hair soup is not my favorite flavor. Andy Warhol may have missed the ultimate social commentary there, but I digress. 

Knowing this blog is meant to be light-hearted and uplifting I'm choosing to channel Ms. Rivers. She would take one look at my picture and make some wildly uncomfortable, inappropriate joke like: "She looks like she just got liberated from Auschwitz." Oh come on, it's what you're all thinking. Or: "She looks like Justin Bieber age 50."

I really do look like a cancer victim now. Full victim. Not the tough/hot chick with a number 2. And so, when I look into the mirror I have 2 choices: cry or think of a fabulous Ms. Rivers quote: "Kelly (Pickler) shaved her head to fight breast cancer. Britney shaved her head because the Slurpee machine broke. (Just something to think about.)" 

OFF WITH HER HAIR

Women are obsessed with their hair. I think it's fair to make that a statement and not an assumption. A strong statement. Up there with: The earth is round. Men take their hair semi-seriously, sure, but they know, because they've seen it on their grandfathers, fathers, teachers, coaches, sports heroes and movie heroes that they may lose it. Bruce Willis is why men do not stress their hair.

It's different for woman. We see no bald. We see femininity and hair perpetually linked in a knot of perfectly-coifed updo. When woman on the screen shave their hair it's to come across as androgynous and macho (Sigourney Weaver in Alien; Demi Moore in G.I. Jane) or it's to shed them of every ounce of their femininity and person (a bawling Anne Hathaway in Les Miserables; every hysterical America's Next Top Model girl chosen to receive the buzz chop). Long, flowing, Botticelli locks are THE definitive beauty standard for women. It therefore comes as no surprise to me that some women opt out of Chemo because they fear losing their hair. It's that important to us. 

This brings me to my recent buzz cut. In order to have your wig fitted properly you have to have your hair short enough. Half an inch to be exact. I did it a few days ago. Did I crumble? Did I lay down and die? Oh no not I. Break into massive musical song and dance hair-shearing number. Fade back to blog. I survived. I didn't shed a tear. And when all was said and shorn; I really like my shaved head. I feel tough. I feel cool. I turn up JZ in my Volvo and peace-up sideways to my homegirls in carpool. This mama's got swagger. Whatever that means. 

Of course I'm going to lose the little I have now. It's already started to come out when I towel dry my scalp. Chemo's not letting me off that easy. But when that happens I have a long, flowing, gently-highlighted, thoroughly feminine, JAP wig to don. But that is another blog.  

EXIT THROUGH THE PINK RIBBON GIFT STORE

Yesterday my mother and I went on a tour of the Cancer Ward. Our guide was a nurse, dressed in the appropriate nurse tour-guide outfit: scrubs. I must say as far as tours go, I've had worse. She politely pointed out all the major attractions and points of interest. "This is the pharmacy." Aaah yes, never would have guessed had it not been for the big sign across the window that says PHARMACY. "This is the waiting room." Take a picture Mum. "Would you like a glass of water?" Hear that Mum? We get a free glass of water. Only gripe is the plastic glass does not have any pink ribbon promotional branding and thus cannot be used as a gift. 

Then the fun part of the tour ended. We were ushered into a small room for Chemo 101. Basically Chemo 101 is an hour-long, 4D, interactive experience that will scare the shit out of you. You're given page after page, brochure after brochure of really, really, asteroid is hitting in 10 minutes bad news. Firstly she tells you which Chemo drugs you're getting. I'm getting a lovely cocktail of Taxotere and Cytoxan with some Neulasta as garnish because they can't stick a cocktail umbrella into your Chemo port. Nurse Psychopath then explains all the side effects. I will lose my hair, be fatigued, have nausea and vomiting, poor appetite and/or weight gain. I may have swelling, mouth sores, constipation, diarrhea, black poop, red wee, nail fallout, anemia, Chemo fog, infection, bleeding, pain and blood clots. I am to avoid crowded places, spicy food and my weekly pedicure. But you know what I won't have...Cancer. 

Shell-shocked we're taken to the main part of the tour. The actual Chemo ward. "This is where the magic happens" smiles Nurse Gladitsnotme. Okay she didn't really say that, but you could tell she's been dying to. She points out The Chair by Lazy Boy. The IV Pole by Big Medical Business, The Visitor Chair by Chemo Rooms To Go and the Fluffy Sock by unknown artist. Fascinating. 

Our tour ends with Nurse Sunshine bidding us farewell. "Comeback soon y'all." Yes we'll be back. Thursday to be precise. But only because our camera phone dies and we really, truly want a shot of The Fluffy Sock.