Adventures with Destiny

At this point I would be derelict, not to mention disingenuous, to imply that losing my hair isn’t one of the most traumatic things for me about cancer treatment. Ah, vanity.

“Vanity is becoming a nuisance, I can see why women give it up, eventually. But I’m not ready for that yet.”
― Margaret Atwood, Cat’s Eye

Yes, arguably the feeling that aliens are sucking the marrow out of your bones (Day 3 following the infusion) is worse, but pain can be managed and I intend to do so during the upcoming cycle by keeping track of the Tylenol doses every 6 hours, just the way I did after the surgery. Despite my promise to myself that I won’t indulge in negative self-chatter, every day that I have my own hair still seems like a triumph against adversity. And a bit of a dash against the clock, as I’d been told my hair would likely depart my head sometime between the first and second rounds of chemo.

The true timeline is Thanksgiving, which I’ll be spending with my granddaughters, who are vocally observant at four and seven. I remember when I was poised to graduate from college in the early 80’s and I met the six-year-old daughter of the graduate student for whom I was traveling to Venice, Italy to au pair that fall. We were sitting next to Louisa’s pool at her condo, I on my towel, Anna in the pool gripping the side, when she looked up at me and said “Why do you have a moustache?” Kids are like that – they say what they see. Usually loudly. Refreshing, really. But my vanity and I are imagining the moment of truth in November when I see my darlings for the first time, sans hair. Maybe I could bring these festive turkey hats for party favors.. At least we’d get a laugh before the mortification sets in.

I’m nothing if not a planner by vocation and instinct. Saturday, after a week of self-isolation due to my stye situation, I ventured back to Burbank to try on the four wigs that Naime’s kind employee, Henry, had ordered for me during last Saturday’s venture with Susan. Due to bad car karma, my friend MJ was unable to join me. As it turned out, my new neighbor in the building, Leah, was able to come for this session to “meet the girls.” Did you know that all wigs are named with perky and promising names? Across all brands – who knew there were so many brands of synthetic wigs? I sat in the chair in the back room at Naime’s and awaited the “meetings” as Leah documented for me.

Let the games begin. Destiny and I went across the street on Sunday to visit our friend Rob and see his new couch. Happy to report it was a good selection and he had sparkling fruit juice and orange juice, as well as fresh strawberries and I brought some Porto’s pastries, so we toasted the couch in his 26th floor aerie.

My generous friends, the Gleasons, brought me lunch on Sunday; Destiny was feeling a little shy and asked to absent herself shortly after their arrival. She’s funny that way.

Sunday night my hair started falling out. There was little to no preamble involved. While watching TV, I reached up and grasped a small area, as I had been for about a week, tugging, but this time seeing the clump in my fingers. I’d tried to let my brother know when we walked at the reservoir Monday morning that there is nothing rational about one’s response to losing your hair. For me, it was purely emotional and I had a pity party (actually more of a rave) last night when I realized my hair was no longer resisting the pull of my fingers but instead was coming out like the clumps of crabgrass I would tug at as a kid. I’d been feeling pain in my scalp for several days when I touched my hair, and it signaled to me that my scalp was letting go of the follicles.

Today I was slated to have lunch with some former students of mine, graciously organized by Sara. I’d been figuring out whether Destiny would go with me to lunch, or I’d choose a hat solution. Over the course of the morning, I realized I didn’t want to shed my remaining hair all over the apartment like a dog, so I booked an appointment at SuperCuts and Alma finished the job. Unfortunately, even if my head shape is okay, the reveal did not take me to a Telly-Savalas-smooth, shiny tanned dome. It didn’t help that the fire alarm in the building went off half way through the cut, while I still had just a clown fringe and I was horrified to think we would have to evacuate the Supercuts.

What remained was stubbly and pale; some of my head was slightly blue, discolored from the chemo, I guess. I quickly went home and donned Destiny before joining the alums of 2008-2010.

It was such a great group, all of them achieving amazing things in the world and I was thrilled to see them and to appreciate the depth of their bonds together since leaving USC.

As was Destiny.