"My hair is falling out!" Her frustration was clouded by an overwhelming sense of sadness.
"I can send your wig back to you! Why does it have to fall out again?" I realized both mistakes as they left my mouth. Rule number one: Don't try to fix it! Rule number two: Don't ask questions that nobody has the answer to.
"It just sucks, it's just sucky." My sailor-mouthed Mom/friend was keeping it PG rated for me. I appreciated her respect, but I knew she needed to vent. I almost felt bad for being good. I felt bad for having hair.
"I'll shave my head again with you! I don't like the dark, curly cocker-spaniel look I'm sporting anyways and I'll be nice and cool this summer." Dang it! I did it again! I tried to fix it...I'm really batting a thousand now! I broke Rule Number One TWICE!
"NO! I don't want you to do that. I'm just sucky! It just sucks!" She just wanted to talk to somebody who knew it sucked and agree with her.
"WTFF!?!?!" Yes, I cursed. It was bad. I knew it, but this warranted it. Hasn't she been through enough? As if the diagnosis 3 years ago wasn't enough! She had to endure poison and multiple surgeries...almost dying twice. PLEASE GOD!?!? I want to do something. I can do nothing except answer the phone when she calls.
The doctors had to change her oral medication. Michelle's hair is falling out, again. Her hair was finally thick and shoulder length. She is getting her final reconstructive procedures next week for crying out loud.
I truly HATE cancer and what it does to people. I don't know how oncology doctors, nurses and medical staff are able to do what they do for us. I'm so mad right now that I could just SPIT! It just frosts my cookies to hear a woman explain how their hair is falling out.
I didn't experience any of those feelings when my hair came out. Laurie told me I had 14 days with hair. So, Mom took me to get my hair cut ~ twice! The first time, we chopped my locks I teared up in the chair just before the shears hit my hair. The second time, I just wanted the bangs to be gone! On the 14th day, Raymond called Denny up to bring his clippers. He sheared me like a lamb. When my prickly tiny little stubbles came off in the shower, it wasn't so traumatic. I lint-rolled my head to get the strays off during the day.
Tonight and through the week, Michelle will be on my heart. If you read this, please pray with me. I don't even know how to pray at this moment, so I'll leave that to the Holy Spirit (after I repent for being a potty mouth). All I know is she just wants her hair.