Hair We Go.

This cancer shit can never be simple, can it?

My hair started falling out over the weekend.  Whatever, totally expected.  What was not expected was creative path my hair decided to take before its curtain call.

There isn't an "easy" button for chemo hair loss.  Because that would be nice.  Press the easy button and all of it falls out at once, I rinse out the shower and that would be that.  I could then proceed along with being awesomely bald or, at least, able to wear hats and wigs without my stubble catching, pulling and hurting my suddenly sensitive head. 

Of course, it doesn't really work like that.  Instead, I have been up shedding stubble all over the greater Metro area and, after six days, am still left with a hair yarmulke. 

Yes, my hair is falling out....everywhere but from the crown of my head. 

I feel like the cancer monster is getting back at me for kicking ass through the second round of chemo.   In exchange for increased energy and a healthy GI system, I am now afflicted with the opposite of male pattern baldness.  Its so ridiculous that it is, quite honestly, hilarious. 

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I made two big steps forward toward normalcy this week.  First, I went back to work.  For those of you that just started reading this blog, I am a lawyer.  I have a specialty practice area and only work for a few attorneys, all of whom I adore.  However, I can't say that I adore working in a law office.  Even in great firms like the one I work in, there is always this overarching vibe of panic mixed with self-importance mixed with entitlement and expensive cologne. 

After two days back in my office, I can already see that my biggest work challenge will be not letting this vibe ruin my new sense of zen.  My office is on a busy hallway and I frequently found myself trying to concentrate over loud conversations that made me want to tip over my desk and  run around in a circle screaming "NONE OF THIS REALLY MATTERS."  Nothing would ruin zen like a psychotic episode. 

Second, I started back up with strength class on Tuesday.  I'm sore.  But it's a welcome soreness because it is movement related, instead of caused by surgeries or medication or being unable to sleep.  I have to be very careful not to stress my affected arm and, this morning, learned the hard way that I have to focus a bit more because misjudging the speed and trajectory of a medicine ball could mean taking an eight pound weight directly into the chest.  Not good when one has a port on the right side and a structurally compromised half-boob on the left side.