A slideshow of baldy pics

A couple weeks ago, I posted that my hair was falling out. Since then, I've posted pics on social media, but have been a pretty big slacker about putting anything up here. I figure it's time to make it up to my bloggy friends who may or may not also be fb fans and/or Instagram followers.

Enjoy.

Nice Princess Leia buns for Star Wars Day, eh? (Yes, that is my actual hair. Judy had wanted to keep it for a craft, so I'd been putting it into baggies as I pulled it out. The amount of hair that I lost in the afternoon of December 17th is the bun in my right hand. The other bun is all of the hair that I'd lost up to that day, combined.)

On December 19th, I decided to see what "hair do" options I had and do a photo shoot. I would take pics and then send them to my brothers. Ha! (Kirk's been hoping for some male pattern baldness. The evenness in which I have lost my hair has been sort of a bummer to him.)

The combover is still my favorite.

As cute as all those little piggies were, I'm here to tell you... I lost a lot of hair that day, twisting my hair into piggies and then pulling the bobby pins back out.

This was pretty typical hair loss for any one of my piggy dos (and there were A LOT of them). Ha!

That night, Judy and I had Panda Express for dinner, and I had to repurpose my Leia buns into Mrs. Meers. Because it's such a natural progression from Chinese food to Chinese laundry to white slavery...

Shoo show, shoo show.

Also, POOK!

And speaking of things I got "from my mother's side of the family"... check out the similarities here.

I had snapped the pic of myself Christmas Eve morning and sent it off to my cousin Julie with a note that it was funny to me how I could see Uncle John in me, now that I'm old and gray and bald. ... She sent me back a pic of John that night. Uh, yeah. No wonder I thought that wave across my forehead looked like Uncle John's! It... uh... is exactly like his. (Those Ball genes are strong!)

I'm a little grayer than I was last week, and my hair's still getting thinner by the day. I'll give it a few more days to fall out on its own before I cut/shave it off.

What I learned last time is that leaving dead hair in my head makes my scalp itchy and weird, so I'm just letting it come out on its own. It's been wildly different this time, in that it's been almost three weeks since it started coming, and it's still not gone. (Last time, it was roughly 72 hours from start to bald.) It's really funny, because it's so thin and wispy that it mostly just stands straight on end, and it feels more like duck fuzz than human hair. But whatev. It makes me laugh every day, even if it does make me do a double take when I walk past a mirror. Pretty soon, I'll be back to bald little old me. Until then, I'm rocking the toddler bedhead like none other!

Coincidence? ... I think not.

I woke up from my nap this afternoon, sat up in bed, saw my reflection in the clock across from my bed, and.... laughed out loud.

And then I grabbed my phone to snap a pic.

Wonder no more. 

I am, in fact, the Lord of the Underworld.

A true story about how my love of chocolate is greater than my fear of anthrax poisoning.

Judy and I have been watching The West Wing for the last couple weeks. (I so love this show. Witty and tight dialogue, characters you love even when you hate them. It's, seriously, the best. And all seven seasons are at your disposal on Ye Olde Netflix. ... Not a paid advertisement, but for real. If you've never seen it, you should. And if you have, you should probably watch it again. I should know, this is my third time through the series in the last year and a half.)

Anyway, Judy and I have been watching TWW, and this afternoon, we hit Episode 20 of Season 5, in which Bartlet and some of his staff come into contact with a powdery pathogen and have to go into lockdown, and it reminded me of the time that we had to evacuate the building at work because we happen to share an office complex with a US Senator who isn't... uh... beloved, exactly, and had received some hate mail with white powder all over it.

I'd left the building earlier that morning to run down to Walgreen's and had just come back with a box of tampons (I thought about cleaning that fact up for the internet, but it's a true story) and a three lb bag of Hershey's kisses. (Also, true. I remember that there was a massive Hershey's display at the register, and a bag of kisses that was the size of a throw pillow? Sign. Me. Up.) I remember pulling up to the bank, walking in through the back door, setting my purse - and my kisses - down on my desk, and... the emergency lights going off inside the building at the same time we heard sirens screaming outside. Staff immediately rushed into the offices with windows facing the courtyard, and we watched as people with hazmat suits walked down the sidewalk and into the main entrance of our office complex.

I remember sitting down at my desk and popping open that bag of kisses, while the blue lights flashed, and chain-eating bite sized pieces of chocolate while we waited to hear what to do next.

Because it was a potential airborne toxin situation, the building shut down the power and killed the AC. For a few minutes, we had to stay on site. (In case of exposure, they needed a headcount of everyone who'd been in the building. You know, in case we all had to get shipped to the same hospital for treatment.) Once the envelopes had been cleared, the bank evacuated employees to our emergency location and we waited for senior management to determine who would be resourced to another office, versus who was able to work from home.

I remember sitting in a plastic chair, with my bag of chocolate in my lap, while my coworkers struggled. Once the immediate threat was gone, people had calmed down. But still, there were a lot of tears. The adrenaline rush was something else, and we had easily a dozen people who were currently displaced. Because the threat had been to a senator's office, we had been asked not to communicate and/or share details with friends and family until such time as the news could break. It was super surreal. Men and women visibly shaken, very emotional, which totally understandable, considering the roller coaster of the morning.

And I just sat there, eating my chocolate.

I was one of the few employees sent to another office for the rest of the day. I remember that afternoon, an employee who worked out of the other branch - the branch I had been temporarily assigned to - came to my desk and asked how I was. I was fine. I was stressed, because I was one person doing the departmental work of four, and I'd lost a couple hours that morning to all of the hullabaloo, but I was fine. She stared, and asked me if, really, I was okay.

And... I was.

I had a bit of a stomachache from all of the chocolate (I ate the entire three lbs in that one work day), but I was fine. I had been fine, all day. I just hadn't realized it until I was pressed for an answer that afternoon.

Because, here's the thing...  I already knew that life is fragile. I already lived, every day, knowing that I have very little control in how or when I die.

It's funny. I don't think of that day very often. It's usually an episode of TV, or a movie with some weird hazmat/airborne toxin situation, that takes me back. But that was a defining day, in that it was a day in which I realized that I'd come to terms with how little control I have overead death. ... Not that I want to die, or would walk right into it, because I don't, and I wouldn't. But I'm really glad that I had that super surreal day at work, for the knowledge that I was okay that day, with whatever came next. (I mean, I had three lbs of chocolate. And I'm sure that helped. But still.) That day, I was given a gift, in that I was able to recognize and actually see how living with cancer has helped me roll with the punches. It's not always easy, and it's not - on any level - constant, the acceptance that I have next to zero control in how matters of life and death play out, but I'm grateful for moments in which life (the universe, the Lord) hold up lessons I've already learned and remind me that I'm smarter than I was.

Monday

After dinner last night, Katie came home with me and had a sleepover. This morning, we got up and drove over to pick up Brea and Hillary for pedis.

Hillary was sooooo hoping that she'd get to pick my polish and we could be matchy/matchy again, but she had to settle for picking my base polish (red sparkles).

After getting pedicures, we walked down to Nothing Bundt Cake to get some bundletts.

And free samples. Lots and lots of free samples. (Don't judge. It was pumpkin cake.)

After getting our toes done, Katie and I came home so I could rest for a few hours before dinner that night with the gang. We met with Spencer's family and Kirk's family for an AWESOME family dinner at Charleston's. (We love their ribs. So much.)

After dinner, we had bundtletts for dessert.

I cut them into quarters, so everyone could have samples of different flavors, and Hazel and Hillary helped "serve" them to everyone at the table.

After dinner, we moseyed on over to the new Mesa Fiiz to get our caffeine on.

We heart sugar. And caffeine. ... Oh, and each other.

Best. FHE. Ever.

Thanks, Spencer, for bringing your family to see me. It was a totally awesome weekend, capped off with lemon Nothing Bundt cake and a Pepperlada from Fiiz. Life doesn't get much better than this.

On second thought

I may be looking a little more like Mama than I am like Richard.

Seriously. Because I shot this view of the top of my head this afternoon.

Gray - check

Curly - double check

Sassy - triple check

Possibly insane - quadruple check

Heaven help us all. 

My past, present and future selves

So, my hair started out flippy in the back and just sort of wavy in the front.

I could not have been more thrilled. I felt very much like I was channeling my inner Audrey. (Who's kidding who? We all basically knew I was a princess. I figured this new short hair proved it.)

It was awesome.

And then a couple weeks went by and it started getting curlier. I mean, WAY curlier.

But I wasn't worried.

Because I figured that if I could channel my inner Julia and pull off something like her short curly hair in Sabrina, all would remain golden.

Buuuuuuuut...

It seems to be a little curlier than Julia's hair.

And I'm started to be afraid.

I mean, very afraid.

Maybe if I could get my hands on either Gregory Peck or Harrison Ford it would help my hair not go all Simmons? ... It's worth a shot, right?

Blast from the Past

Yesterday, my friend Cili came over to make brownies and watch movies with me.

Product Placement Break:

Have you had these?

They are a-maaaaaazing! (And they're just under $2 a batch if purchased at your neighborhood WalMart.)

You're welcome.

Anyhoo... C came over to make (and eat) a batch of brownies and watch some movies. Knowing the Wood house rules, I gave the girl a handful of PG movies to choose from.

Sleepless in Seattle was her first pick. (Smart girl.) She'd never seen it, and I knew she was in for a treat. (I mean, besides the brownies. Those were an obvious treat and a half.) That movie and 11 yr old girls are MFEO.

She laughed, I laughed. I teared up a little at all the Affair to Remember references. ("It was nearest thing to heaven. You were there!" ... "Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories.") She asked me if Meg Ryan's character was crying. I had to tell her that, yes, she was. (I did not admit that maybe I was a little bit, too.)

All around, it was a good time had by all.

And I'm not just saying that because I saw this familiar face.

Ahhhhh, Rosie.

Back in the day when, everywhere I went, people told me that I looked just like her. 

Case in point:

Mind you, this face I'm pulling is a little bit more "Another Stakeout" than it is "Sleepless in Seattle". But still.

I'd forgotten how much we really did look alike. ... And how, circa 1993, that was a compliment. (Post-A League of Their Own, anyway. I never did like to hear that I looked "just like" Doris Murphy, as I'm sure you can imagine.)

I had a friend in one of my BYU wards who actually called me Rosie instead of Laurie. (It's alright. I called him Bob. As in, Bob Saget, of Full House fame.) 

See the pic below: 

Care to guess which one is my boy, Bob? 

I promise you that he was bent almost in half in this pic. In no way was Bob short enough to put his head on my shoulder on the reg.

When Rosie was doing her daytime talk show, she did a show when she filled the audience with women who were look-a-likes. When Mark Packard found out that I had known she was doing that show, and hadn't sent my picture in, he was furious and insisted that the bank would have given me the time off to travel back and forth so I could be on TV. He was certain that no other woman in the country could possibly look as much like Rosie as I did, and that I would have for sure won a huge prize.

Ahhhh... the Rosie days. They were good times.

I mean, so are these. But those were good times. For me and for Rosie. (Is it just me, or did she use to smile more?) It was fun to see the old me/her on the small screen yesterday. And when I told C that people used to tell me I looked like her, she looked me over and then sagely said, "I can see it". Ha!

I'm such a rebel

So, my doctors have told me that it's okay for me to still drink my beloved Coke (now Diet Coke, because one of the worst things cancer has done to my body... and yes, I understand the irony, considering that I have an inoperable tumor winding its way though my guts and threatening to kill me, but still, this is right up there with the worst things cancer has done to my body... is that regular soda is now sticky sweet and it makes me gaggy, so I've been relegated to the diet soda. I figure it's all good about the aspartame, since I already have the cancer.)

Anyway, as I was saying... My doctors have said that it's okay for me to still drink the soda, as long as I'm drinking a minimum of 64 oz of water a day, and a maximum of 12 oz of soda a day.

They're so cute.

Meanwhile, in the world I live in, if I can digest it, I am eating/drinking it. Which means...

Say hello to my little friend. (Also, don't worry about the weird angle of my thumb. My fingers are double jointed and my thumbs can look real special sometimes.)

This is my second 32 oz Diet Coke of the day. Both of them from McDonald's. Because I'd rather not get out of my car and walk into a gas station to buy a drink when it's 102. (Also, McD's makes the best french fries in the world. This is a no brainer.) Hello, drive-thru, I love you so!

Maybe tomorrow I'll flip the tables and guzzle water instead of caffeine, but today... I am a rebel. Maybe not a real hydrated rebel, but a rebel nonetheless. (And I did also drink two bottles of water, so it's not like I'm living on carbonated drinks full of caramel color alone.)

Life is just a bowl of cherries

I'm sitting in bed this morning, watching Covert Affairs (I'm in season five, so it's almost over) and eating a bowl full of of cherries, feeling a little upside down and inside out about this day, when I thought of this old Mary Engelbreit picture.

I'm going back to work this morning. It's very part time, and I'll be doing admin projects for the CFO rather than going back to my department and working with lending. I am incredibly grateful that the bank has been so supportive of me wanting to reinstitute some normalcy in my life, and I'm looking forward to figuring out if my brain still works. (Chemo brain is the bane of my existence. It's better than it was, but I still get surprised by my memory lapses and/or the inability to find the right word(s).)

I'm excited to go back to work. I'm also a little nervous about how my body will react to getting put back on a schedule. It's going to be so great to see my work friends again on a regular basis. That said, I'm a different version of me than I was just six months ago, and I can't help but wonder if/how things will/could be the same.

Like I said, I'm feeling a little upside down and inside out. Grateful, excited, invested, anxious, concerned, curious, committed. I am all of those things, and some more that I can't quite put a finger on. (Again, with the cursed inability to articulate.) But I am full of cherries and I am full of hope, and I've got to think that's a winning combination.

Cancer's so freaking sexy

Some days (like when I have to get blood drawn, and the nurse has a guaranteed stick without having to try and hit a vein), I think my port's about the coolest thing ever.

And other days (like today, when I look down and happen to see the a vein literally popping right up and out of my chest), I think it's pretty vile that I have foreign matter imbedded in my chest, and a freaking tube stuffed inside one of my veins.

Don't worry about how my coping skills sometimes include taking a picture of the stuff that grosses me out...

But seriously, how nuts is that vein that pops up/out when I am in a reclining position?!

I'm grateful that it doesn't pop when I'm sitting/standing upright, and that it's only when I'm at an incline that I'm reminded that I'm sort of part robot now, but still... it's like my body couldn't get any weirder if it tried. 

That awkward moment when you have to tell a stranger you're wearing a wig...

So, here's a fun story from my actual life.

After my little daytrip last week, I'd been needing to put some gas in my car for a few days, so I ran over to Danny's (or what used to be Danny's, for the life of me, I can't remember the new name of that gas station) to get some gas. While I was there, I decided to let the staff wash the bug guts off my grill. And I figured I should buy some peanut M&M's while the car was getting wiped down. (Can I eat an entire package of M&M's in one sitting yet? No. But I'm working on it. And I'm currently up to eating six M&M's consecutively before my tongue swells and my mouth hurts. Dang these stupid mouth sores all to heck. I hate them.)

Aaaaaaaanyway, this is the conversation I had with the gas station cashier when I was buying my M&M's:

Cashier: I really like your hair.
Me: Thank you.
Cashier: No, I really like it. It's so pretty!
Me: Thank you.
Cashier: I don't know why, but I never do my hair like that.
Me: You have really pretty hair, too.
Cashier: So... how do you get the curls to stay like that?
Me: (pause) I don't know.
Cashier: No, really. Is it your curling iron, or is it hairspray?
Me: Honestly, I don't know.
*dramatic pause while she looks at me suspiciously, like I would lie to her about how I do my hair*
Me: It's a wig. And it was styled before she sent it to me. So, honestly... I have no idea what she did to make the curls at the top/front stay this perfect.
Cashier: But you have a part!
Me: I know.
Cashier: It doesn't LOOK like a wig!
Me: Thank you.
Cashier: It's so pretty!
Me: Thank you.

And then she handed me my change and my wig and I walked outside to sit in the sun and eat our candy.

Awkward wig moments are my new favorite.

What a day!

Holy moly... today has been one for the books. (And I'm so tired that... oh, gosh. I don't even have words.) But today is a day that must be documented. So... here we go.

It was Jo's and my Third Annual at Schnepf Farm's Peach Festival.

So what if I only brought home about 10 peaches this year? That was about all I could carry. (I'm such a weakling now.) But I ate my fill of peaches in the muddy, slippery, mess that was the peach farm. And we got a good selfie. So... WINNING!

After tromping through the mud and the muck, Jo brought me home so I could rest up for an evening of good times at Kirk's house.

I'd gone over a couple weeks ago, and Hazel said something about how she wanted to paint my head, "like an Easter egg". Hello! I can do that. So, I sent Judy to the store for some paints, and Mary had about a bazillion brushes. Done and done.

Best family dinner/art event of all time.

Monson and Hazel were the most enthusiastic (and lasted the longest... until all of the black paint was gone, and until waaaaaaaay more than the approved amount of my skin had been covered), but all of the kids got into it. Strangely, I don't have a good pic of Russell with a paintbrush in his hand, but here is the proof that he left his mark.

The rules had been ONLY ON MY BALD HEAD. Not on my face, not on my neck, not on my ears. ... Monson and Haze got a little carried away. (And Monson was having a love affair with the pot of black paint. He seriously could not get enough of it.)

By the end of the game, I looked more like a convict with prison tats than a cancer patient (esp on the left/Monson side of my head), but it's all good.

This was my favorite pic of the night. This was at the beginning, before all of the weirdness happened on the side(s) of my head.

Kirk started with writing my name (he called me Lala when he was a baby, and it's sort of stuck), Russ painted on a cancer ribbon. I don't remember which of the big boys drew that big smiley face on the back of of my head, but it was Hazel who made sure there was a red flower and a blue butterfly to be pretty.

I love these kids. I love that when they think of me, they have memories of nicknames and smiley faces and flowers, and that they would want to make sure that a cancer awareness ribbon was prominent on my bald head.

The images that followed were more of the same: writing their own names, painting a beach scene complete with palm tree under the smiley face sun, and... who the heck knows what Monsy was trying to make happen with all that black paint down the side of my neck.

I'm so glad that the kids aren't afraid of the baldness, that I was able to help them make a memory that will (hopefully) make the cancer less scary for them. ... Best. Family. Dinner. ... Ever.