Well, maybe I care a little bit. It’s interesting. When I look at myself in the mirror, I still see cancer. My eyelashes are thin, so are my eyebrows. And my hair… My hair is, well, not my hair. It’s very short and very gray. Not that deep, dark chocolate bob that I used to sport. When I see my reflection, I still see illness.
It’s interesting, though. Lately, I’ve been getting a lot of compliments on my “haircut.” When people I know tell me that my hair looks great, it’s not that I think they’re lying. I just think they’re being extra nice. But strangers in elevators have been asking where I get my hair done? I’m always thrown for a loop. I don’t know what to say. Because to me, it’s not a haircut. It’s not a hairstyle. It’s cancer. It’s sickness. It’s pain. And although the look is funky, it’s not me.
I’m looking forward to my first haircut and the pixie cuts that I will rock. I think that will be fun. But right now, a little more than 3 months post chemo, I’m still getting used to the new me.