Adventures in Head Shaving

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I dropped in on my BamPowChow food truck friends yesterday for lunch (chicken and bacon jam quesadilla for the win!) and after complimenting me on my punk rock stubble Chef Sean gave me some unsolicited but sage advice:

  1. Shave your head in the shower.
  2. Stop shaving when you no longer hear the *scritch* *scritch* *scritch*.

That second one made me laugh because he said it so matter of factly like everyone can hear the razor in their head when shaving. Perhaps that is common for guys, but my legs are a long way from my ears and while I can’t speak for all women, I don’t recall hearing that before.

Now, I have been on the fence about shaving my head with a razor. Before last night, I was thinking I might be able to get away with the closely clipped stubble I’ve been rocking for the last week, BUT there is this weird thing happening with my hair right now and last night it became unbearable. My hair hurt. Every time my head touched the pillow it hurt me so badly I couldn’t sleep. Maria and I have developed a theory that the chemo must kill off the root ball that anchors a shaft of hair in your skin leaving the shaft exposed and able to poke you mercilessly like a tiny needle. Then not long after your hair starts to hurt it starts to fall out in droves. I’ve been using this whole weird series of events as an indicator of when to bring out the clippers. Today I hit the last level of hair to downsize so I hit the showers with razor in hand. Cue the hilarity to ensue!

the-delivery

I wasn’t that far in (and intently listening for the *scritch* *scritch* *scritch* to stop) when I realized this wasn’t going to go as smoothly as I would have hoped. For starters, it was taking a lot of work to get the *scritch* *scritch* *scritch* to stop! I was also getting tired and running out of hot water. I decided to make sure the areas NOT covered by a ball cap were shaved up as best I could and finished up my shower.

After consulting with my authority on all things manish (thanks Brock!) and the rest of the family hive mind (thanks Allison and Sue My Mother!), I arranged with Trish, my Thursday Partner In Crime to pop by Target after my weekly blood letting to pick up a Harry’s razor and some of their Post Shave Balm with aloe vera (which relieves and soothes!). Then, once back home this afternoon I set about finishing this morning’s shower and shave 😉

Take Aways:

  1. Razors meant for legs don’t seem to do so hot on heads.
  2. There’s a reason the guy’s shaving aisle is so much better than the lady’s equivalent.
  3. Wow is my head SMOOVE!
  4. Dang, I sure do have a purty head.

Don’t worry, I got this…

Please, No, Not The Look.

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I’ve been fine with losing my hair from the beginning, in fact I considered it a silver lining since it would give me a great excuse to do some fun things with my hair since forever. Scott, my hottie hair stylist, and I have had several conversations about what we would be able to do both as it was leaving, while it was gone, and when it was growing back. However, along the way I realized one important thing. I wanted to be in control of it going, not the chemo..controlling the burn as I termed it. It was all fun and games until this last trim when the last of my hair came off.

At my first chemo treatment, where it was evident I was a noob because I had hair, I realized there were actually two important things. The second being that I was okay not having hair as long as it was just me on my own and not identified as a group of sick women. Turns out that the perception of others is something I cannot control. I have known that for years, but I had not made the connection until recently.

My friend, Maria, is a treatment ahead of me and has been preparing me for what to expect based upon her own experiences. She told me that once my hair was gone, I would be hugged and prayed over by strangers, but she did not make as much note about the look.

You know the look, the “oh, you poor thing, how terrible” look. Pity.

I do not need it, I do not want it, and I do not deserve it. My cancer was caught miraculously early, I have been blessed with an amazing doctor, and we are treating whatever cells remaining aggressively. My odds are better than most women who have been diagnosed with ovarian cancer and I know it. Instead, SMILE. Trust me on this one. Look them square in the eyes and SMILE. You might be surprised by the effect it has on the exhausted looking, no hair day having beauty before you.

First blog post

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To know me is to love me and be fully prepared that at some point I’m bound to overshare something other people tend to consider *too personal* to talk about above a hushed whisper in a very small group. Why anyone would think things would be any different now that I have *the cancer* is beyond me, so disabuse yourself of any misconceptions now. Should it cross my brain pan and one ounce of me consider it worth sharing, energy willing you will find it here.