It Might be Time

I've suspected all along that things were getting a bit thinner around here. It's not the hips nor the waist. It's nothing below the neckline that is getting scarce.

I see more scalp as time passes. More hair in the tub after a shower and a sprinkling of it on the bathroom counter and finally the hair brush that needs cleaned more often.

It might be time to make a visit to the salon and get the buzz cut. I'm tearful.

"Oh, losing your hair is nothing. It will grow back."

I've heard this and worse yet, I've said this. Never again.

It's not the fact that I'll be hairless that upsets me. It's just another "in your face" reminder of your health status. I try to move along in my life and shove my diagnosis to the back of my mind. I don't want to think about it all the time. I want to laugh, go places and do normal routine things. It slams back into me every three weeks when I have to go into the clinic to have the chemo run. The night before that chemo run is emotional for me. It's dragged from the back of my mind to the forefront. I'm frightened and alone or at least that's the way I feel.

I'll spend a lot of time on Skype with my friend. From South Carolina, she sits in her apartment and keeps me company through the evening when there is no one around. A lifesaver for me, we watch television together or sometimes watch different shows; it doesn't matter. It's comforting to know she is there.

I'm ready for a cup of coffee and some toast. It's almost medicine time and I don't like to drop medicines into an empty stomach.

I'm gone!