The Upswing

Last week, the Universe kinda made me its bitch.  I wasn't really into it, but sometimes a gal needs a funky new perspective on life, I guess.  Near death experiences are one way to expedite that.

Once the ol' heart and lungs started functioning again last week, it was back to business.  Monday was booked solid:

1. blood test
2. oncologist appointment
3. first chemo session
4. haircut
5. ladies date   

Chemo was surprisingly chill.  I got to sit in a big recliner and sweet nurses brought me pillows and warm blankets.  I brought a million things to do and read, but instead spent the 5 hours passed out, drooling.  It was the best sleep I had had in many weeks.  I guess subconsciously I had this feeling of crossing the finish line once I finally made it to chemo.  As soon as I landed in that chair and got the drugs all plugged in my arm, I was donezo. 

I made it back home Monday evening with a little time to collect my thoughts and wigs before heading to my hair salon.  My beloved hairdresser, Josef, had arranged an after hours time slot for me to come in a get my head shaved in peace--just the two of us.  We banded up little ponies of hair all over my head, and off they came.  When all was said and done, Josef and I concurred that I had a pretty great head underneath all those silken tresses.  I looked in the mirror at my buzzed head and felt really fucking awesome.  I looked beautiful.  I looked tough.  I looked free.  I had expected to cry, but instead I was beaming. 

After the buzzing, I tried on each of my wigs and Josef gave them each a little trim 'n' fluff.  When he asked which one I wanted to wear out, I said neither.  I am gonna flaunt this buzzcut til it starts to fall out.  It's too good to waste.  (Except on really cold days.)

Now might be a good time to retract some of the things I said in my previous post, Shit I Ban You From Saying to Me.  Buzzcut Danielle is beautiful and punk rock and suddenly into scarfs and shit.  But the ominous truth is that in a few weeks, I could look less like Eleven and more like Larry David.  So, I grant ye permission to inflate my ego for now, but once my shit starts getting patchy and I have to hide away under wigs, everyone's gotta STFU again.

XOXO,
Danielle Lynne