Hair today...

gone tomorrow.

Today was the day I went to see my stylist and had my hair chopped off. Cheslea and I have quite a history. She's in her early 20's, tiny and cute quite the opposite of myself. Many years ago now I had frequented the salon in which she works. I left as the owner always thought he had a better idea of what my hair should look like than I did. Perhaps he was correct though I would have rather he just did as I asked. There did come a day when I left vowing not to return.

Then three years ago I stopped by on a whim to get a haircut. A "walk-in" is what they call me in the biz. "Sure, Chelsea can cut your hair", they said. And soon this little kid walked down the steps, black hair with Crayola red streaks, nose piercing sweet kid. And I thought to myself, "This is either gonna be really, really good or really, really bad." By the time I left we had exchanged life stories and I had a great hair cut. I've been her client ever since. She shared all of her medical issues with me as if I were her friend, someone probably older than her own mother. And 5 weeks ago I shared mine. I have breast cancer. Poor kid teared up.

Today I walked in and after exchanging the usual pleasantries I told her I would be starting chemo on the 18th and the hair had to go. I told Chelsea that I couldn't deal with waking up one morning surrounded by my hair. So I'd made the decision to cut it. And so we sat on the couch and came up with a plan. And when she was done my hair was all but gone.

I promised to return for the buzz cut which will inevitably come. Both of the chemo agents being used cause "hair loss". I'm on the look out now for a great eye brow pencil. And grateful for friends like Chelsea.