I don’t feel good.
Like, I really don’t feel good.
I feel like death...to be exact.
Today is my last day of chemo on this round, so I guess that's the light waiting at the end of this fucking tunnel from hell.
But it’s the middle of the night, and I can’t sleep. I can’t stop throwing up, but that’s nothing new during weeks like this.
So, you know my hair is falling out. I know I keep talking about it. But it’s kind of like talking about death. It’s a coping mechanasim to talk about it. Or write about it.
...AKA how this blog was started.
Anyways. I have a few scarves that were already in my closet that I’ve been wearing on my head. There’s one I really like. Its light and the easiest to make look “good”...Or at least that’s what I tell myself.
So after spray gate 2019 and alternate hair loss, I decided to order head scarves.
I’m still looking into wig options.
So we ordered headscarves from Amazon.
Also...can we talk about the power of female friendship?! My best friend just ordered us matching headscarves we can wear together from this amazing company based in NYC...and I’m sorry but if that's not fucking beautiful than I dont know what is.
I’m glad she didn’t offer to shave her head. Because going bald sucks. If you can keep your hair, keep it.
Pretty sure I would have strangled her with the head scarf if she shaved it for me.
Which then would have been a major problem because she’s my person...aka the person I would normally call to help me get rid of someone if I killed them.
And she’s taller than me (which is saying something...and something I am very jealous of), and I don’t exactly have the strength at the moment to drag her across the floor.
And I live on a public street, so I’m pretty sure everyone would see a balding now patchy spray tanned bitch struggling to drag a very long bag out of the door.
Also, I have a tiny dog that I love very much, but is very hyper-enthusiastic aka ANNOYING and LOUD that barks every time the door opens or closes, which would call attention to the whole weak bald body hiding hypothetical scenario I am describing.
...And if I killed her, who would I talk to every day?
I’m sure her mom is reading this. Hi mama K. I promise I have no plans to murder your daughter...I love her too much. Xo.
I’m just speaking in hypotheticals.
And as usual, I’m getting off track.
So, over the weekend Ray ordered headscarves.
I don’t know anything about headscarves. But I’ve done the research. What my doctor suggested, patient referrals, read the chat rooms (I like to read as much as I like to write), did all the things.
But, I am losing my hair and I am a woman. And like any woman that's spent any amount of time in a pair of heels can tell you...fashion is pain.
Although, I ditched that logic a while back. But I have to say, that happened when I started getting insecure because I started getting fat...which was ironically because I had cancer and my former doctor(s) are twat waffle fuck heads that didn’t listen to me or my symptoms...and now I’m here. (That will be a post for another day.)
But yeah. I went with the cute ones. The ones I thought looked good. Style and color, etc. ITS CALLED FASHUN SWEETIE, LOOK IT UP.
So I decided to start small. I just got a couple. They were all supposed to come in today but only one did. No big deal. Ray brought it into the house. I said thank you and laid it on the table.
It was like I had to mentally prepare myself to put it on. I mean the hair loss and make-shift scarf stuff...sucks.
But wearing a headscarf, ordering a headscarf specifically made for cancer patients...well lets just say I had to work up to this.
I kept looking at it on the table.
It was looking back at me.
I want to say its pathetic that this is such a big deal, but its not. This is a big fucking deal.
I’ve dealt with daily pain. I’ve dealt with all kinds of menstrual changes and nausea and exhaustion to the point I can’t stand. I’ve dealt with loss of appetite but still completely bloated and weight gain.
Which is ironic in itself because now all I do is pray to be fat, or at least not lose weight.
Every heard of cachexia? Look it up. My second least favorite c word.
But at least with all this shit, in between throwing up in restaurant bathrooms and crying inconsolably on the floor of the bathroom to the point that I can’t breathe...on my good days...I could do it.
Sometimes all day. Sometimes only for a few hours at night (or less...when you’re an idiot having a panic attack) at dinner.
But I could do it. I could throw on a pair of heels, beat my face, rock an outfit...do my hair. Feel normal.
I always said, call me a patient. A survivor. Not a victim.
Now, I feel like a victim.
I wake up in the morning and look in the mirror and don’t recognize myself.
I’m pale (or too tan...oops.)
My hair isn’t there.
My hair doesn’t define me as a person.
I define myself as a person.
And I don’t feel like a person...like a woman without my hair.
Everyone has a struggle. Yes it could be worse. But this is my struggle.
...I am struggling.
So I finally got the courage to wear the headscarf. The colors were beautiful. And even better, it was one of those pre-tied ones so its basically a hat with flowy wings.
I locked myself in the bathroom.
Unwrapped the packaging, which was beautiful...by the way.
Felt the fabric in my hands.
Stared at myself in the mirror.
Slowly removed the temporary headscarf I was wearing.
Slowly. Methodically. Spiritually.
I put the beautiful multicolored headscarf on my head.
...NOPE. JUST KIDDING.
Remember when I said I have a huge head? REMEMBER?
LITERALLY THIS HEADSCARF WOULDN’T FIT ON MY FUCKING HEAD
BECAUSE MY HEAD IS THAT HUGE.
...Like I said. The universe is laughing at me. Fuck you, universe.
But at this point, I’m laughing. I hope you are too.