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I’m Wigged Out

In the last month, through a series of events and slightly warmer weather, I have been leaving the house wig and hat free, much more often. I have gone to medical appointments without anything, which I think I mentioned. Since the SVC Syndrome “incident” I started going to appointments without, since some people theorized that my make-up and wig actually prohibited the doctors from seeing my changing coloring, puffiness, etc. And really, sometimes it is just much more comfortable to not have a wig and hair in my face. I can’t do a ponytail so going bare headed or a warm fuzzy cap in the winter was my next best option.

Now that my hair is coming back I am trying to figure out when I’m comfortable enough that this wig stuff can go. I’m also having all sorts of dreams about my hair. One night I had a dream it literally grew back overnight. That was a disappointing wake up call! Another night, I had a dream this short stuff was falling out again. I am happy to say I have given it a little tug and fortunately it was just a dream. So I guess now that a lot of the “big” stuff is settling down, my brain is having time to worry about the more superficial aspects of what my body has been through as a result of having breast cancer.

That Little Girl has been telling me that I can’t go out without a wig because people will think I am a boy since I don’t have long hair. The fact that she herself does not have very long hair and some guys we know have long hair has no effect on her rationale. I’m also very conscious of other children and questions it would raise for their parents. Not because they would think I was a boy, but because they would wonder why I had cut my hair (if they know me) (and then that literally happened since I drafted this post and could get it up here… whoops) or why I didn’t have any if they don’t.

I am just not into the conversations going out with a naked head means I would need to have with strangers or looks they would give me. I was recently out with just a cap on and took it off briefly. My mom happened to be there and someone asked her, “Oh, does she have cancer?”. It’s perfectly fine that she asked, I just don’t have it in me to discuss it every single time. With strangers. In public. So I wear a wig.

We had to take That Baby to the Emergency Room recently. She was and is fine. However, while there, I was the one who had to wear a mask. And I did not have on a wig. Everyone was looking at me with sad eyes as we did the waiting room marathon. That Guy told me it was because I was looking so hot. Obviously, he’s a liar. As we left, a woman told me she hopes I feel better really soon. I just smiled and said thank you.

Then there was a recent night I went to yoga. I’ve gotten to the point I really don’t care about any of this when I am there. Another person attending the class had the cutest short hair style. She told me she had shaved her head, turns out to a 1/4″ or so, and stopped dying it. She told me how cute my cut was and I really think she thought I had voluntarily come to this style. Once I told her I actually loved having long hair and that this was the result of going through cancer treatment, she went on to point out how freeing it is. I am looking forward to having fresh healthy hair. This woman couldn’t get over how thick mine looked. I can’t get over how some of the pieces have gray tips and then what I am guessing is my natural brown toward the root. I am not looking forward to growing it out through all those awkward lengths and in betweens. And apparently multi-color strands. This woman thought in the next three months I would have a bang to play with. I was like, really, three months yet??? I was hoping one (not realistic) or two (really thought that was reasonable).

As it has warmed up ever so slightly I find myself again whipping it off when I get in the car once I know home is the next stop. Want to shock a friend? Whip off your wig and ask her to put it in your purse after dinner. Seriously. I’m just so over it.

Even my second wig is getting a little Barbie frizz. I was really jones-ing for a new one about a month ago and my mother told me it was silly since I would have my own hair soon. Now I’m so over wigs I don’t even want a new one. I just want my hair a smidge longer. As it is, it is all wacky and in hat hair style most of the time. Still too short to comb or brush but long enough to get all goofy.

So here I sit waiting patiently for my 1/2″ per month.

At least that is what Google promises me.

Hey, could be worse! I am fairly certain my eyelashes came back longer than they were in their pre-cancer days.

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