The hairs of my chinny-chin-chin

It has finally started. We were on the way back from our weekly Sunday pilgrimage to Target when I touched my upper lip and half a dozen hairs jumped off. Tomorrow starts week 3, the traditional hair-loss week for chemo patients (for those taking chemo that causes hair loss). I was holding out a little bit of hope that somehow I would manage to beat the odds and keep my hair, but meanwhile I'll still keep thinking happy thoughts for the hairs on top of my head.

So tonight I'll trim the moustache and beard down as close as I can to the skin and tomorrow morning the razor will make an appearance in the shower. Chemo doesn't happen until the afternoon, so I won't need to rush or anything, which is a good thing. I've always been paranoid about cutting myself (ask about my method for licking envelopes sometime), and I haven't touched a razor to my upper lip or chin since late 1998. Another reason to exercise care when shaving is the Coumadin I'm taking to thin my blood so that the port-a-cath doesn't get clotted up. I doubt I would bleed to death, but it would be a messy experience.

Back in 1998 I was living a different life, pre-Sarah (well, pre-marriage to Sarah anyway), in the exotic world of an international tax at the global accounting firm KPMG, and had to keep it somewhat clean. Once I got married and left that scene for that of a United Methodist clergy spouse, I dirtied up a bit. I like it much better that way.

Sarah took some pics to mark the occasion, so I'm sure those will show up here soon. The full face shave will probably take 10 years off my apparent age, which should provoke some interesting reactions from those who have never known me without facial hair.

I do have a small collection of head coverings at the ready in case the head starts going bare, including my trusty old Pippi Longstocking red pigtails with bows (part of my previous counter-cultural life, although that has more or less merged with my everyday life at this point).


I should be able to make several fashion statements (most of them just plain wrong) when the second cycle of chemo begins on the 14th.

Time for dinner! My personal executive chef (no, not Sarah) has arrived with Fettucini Alfredo and her special recipe salad dressing. Perfect food for Super Bowl viewing...