Going, Going ... Not Quite Gone

I thought by now, I'd be able to write a "Who Loves Ya, Baby" post and pass out Tootsie Pops to honor the occasion of my impersonation of Kojak. Nope, not yet. I'm a little premature, turns out this hair loss process is a lot slower than I thought.

Though I've shed clumps upon copious clumps of hair, I'm still not bald. Make no mistake, things are thin up top; so much so, my shadow looks different.

But like the oil spill in the gulf, the hair just keeps coming out with no end in sight. And like the oil, I had no idea there was so of it! (Note to self: add "good hair" to gratitude list).

I guess I'm in transition. As my niece so wisely pointed out - "hair in transition is never a good thing." She is right, right, right about that; so these days, you'll find me sporting a couple of chic little hats I picked up at where else? Target.

Update: Above entry was written 3 weeks ago, when the oil in the gulf was still flowing and the plug theories seemed to be a joke. The following is from my thoughts today, August 22nd; a few things have changed:

For the past few weeks I've been watching the natural part-line in my hair grow wider and wider. I think it's measuring at about an inch wide; almost qualifying me to join the "comb-over" club. Anybody got some Brill Cream they can loan me?

Strangely, the length on the sides is about the same as it was before the hair loss began: below the ears. Thin, very thin, but still on the long-ish side. Pair that with my pale skin and I've got a look that has "cancer poster child" written all over it.

Yesterday afternoon, I decided it was time to take charge of the situation and tell Chemotherapy who is in charge here. "Buzz cut for Bon," says I.

Mr. Bon promptly retrieved the clippers from the linen closet. Yeah, we're cool like that - we definitely have the same kind of electric shears they use at Rudy's. We even have the sweet smock to keep the hair from getting all up in your clothes.

Then it was time to decide the length. Were we going drastic and cut with the #1 fence attached - or keep it on the longer (it's all relative) side, with the #4 fence in place?

In the end, conservatism won out and I chose a #4. With our daughter right by his side helping with clean-up, Mr. Bon shaved me right down to an almost stylish nappy little cut. It feels great; I can hardly keep my hands from touching it. And, it doesn't look too bad either.

Surprisingly, I look about 46 years younger. No kidding. As my family will confirm, when I was a wee pup, my short, blond toddler hair stood straight up on end. Even though it is very, very short today, you can see that tendency is still there. And somehow my brown hair has given way to blond roots. I mean, I think those roots are blond. Surely, they're not gray ... right?

Now for the cute part. Did I ever mention to you that I'm actually married to a Saint? I only call him Mr. Bon here because he is so humble. Trust me, his real name is Saint Jim. I'll explain the reasons why later. Yesterday was just another demonstration of the countless acts of kindness, love, support and sweetness he has shown me in our 28 years together.

As soon as I stepped out of our makeshift barber's chair, in hops my man! "Number Four" says he. So daughter and I commenced the shaving ... right down to the wee bits. And of course, he looks freaking cute in his #4. What a man ... getting the buzz cut whilst in the midst of a job search (note to Universe: that last line was for you - Mr. Bon is still attracting job offers - hoping for your help here - in a big, generous way -thank you kindly).

When I woke up this morning and looked toward the other side of the bed, I saw not only my husband of 25 years, but now a man who dares to be "my hair twin."

I had to ask myself:

"Who loves you, baby?"