Uh, I don't think that's going to be a good look for me

Pressed to name the potential chemo side effect I was most anxious about, I'd have to point to the asset I've invested in the most -- the tinted, highlighted hair on my little round head -- and admit I was curious about the exact date of its impending departure. How would it begin? A little here and there -- or a mass exodus? Would one of Chicago's famous gusty winds blow the hair right off my head and send me chasing it down the sidewalk, trying to step on it so it couldn't keep tumbling away? "Hey, stop that hair!"

Would I get up in the middle of the night for a pit stop and find, like Hansel, I'd left a follicle trail so I could find my way back to bed? Would I lift my head to turn off the alarm one morning and discover my whole head of hair had stayed, intact, on the pillow. Aargh, that's too creepy to even think about.

The irony is that I've fought with my uncooperative, mind-of-its-own hair my whole adult life. How could a body that forever struggled to be thin be topped with a head of thin hair with no body. Where is the justice?! Where is the poetry in life?

If choices are made for us from the predetermined columns, i.e, "Sorry, here's your chubby-prone 5'2" body, along with a lifetime supply of carrots, celery and rice cakes," then a fair sense of play would dictate that the following offering would then be extended: "Now go on and grab yourself a lush head of thick hair from column B. You've earned it."

"Oh, and by the way, one day your daddy will invent post-it notes and no one will care if you or your hair is thin because you'll be stinkin' rich."

But not only didn't my daddy invent post-it notes, he never even saw a post-it note in his lifetime. So, here I am, both feet firmly planted on the middle ground of the middle class with a head of hair that needs to be gelled, gooped, spiked and sprayed into submission -- and even that is only temporary before it returns to its limp roots (sorry). And, as I battled it one post-chemo morning, it occurred to me that in another week or two or three, I might be wishing I had that stubborn mop to go to the mat with.

And then, on the 17th day after my first chemo session, in the shower as I scrubbed my shampooed hair, I came away with what looked like a bird's nest in each hand. I plastered it on the shower wall so it wouldn't clog the drain and ran my hands through my hair again. More clumps. Aha, "hair" we go!

The odd thing was that towel drying my hair didn't make it fall out. But I couldn't style it with a comb, brush or my hands without it coming out in tufts. Fortunately, I had bought a black newsboy soft felt hat and it became my new accessory all week.

I've been told, and actually I've seen it happen, that often times chemo patients' hair returns much nicer than their original hair -- thicker, wavier, a prettier color. It's a bit of a tease, because sometimes it only stays that way for a year before returning to its tired old self. But, I'm going with it. I'm expecting it. I'm choosing that lush head of hair from column B, and the sooner it gets here, the better. Because I look like a frog in a hat.