Today has been another chaotically busy day in my frantic preparations. The biggest event was my date with my darling hairdresser who I adore. We have been planning for my hair loss for sometime. I had my usual six weekly appointment just before we went away and had my usual bob length hair cut much shorter. Today’s was all about minimising the mess when my hair starts hurling itself from my scalp. I now sport and very short crop albeit with some slightly longer bits on top. And I have a cunning plan for when the Great Shedding occurs. The minute it starts to come out I shall be on the phone to the Serious Delinquent who has promised to come round armed with clippers and Prosecco. I do not want to wait for it all to come out in handfuls. That it is going to depart this life is inevitable so I would rather attempt a little control of the situation.
Anyway, my fabulous hairdresser has done a pretty amazing job. I am really rather pleased:
Of course, it will be the shortest length of time I have ever had a hair style for. Except possibly some gross errors of judgement in the eighties. But on the whole, I feel it bodes well for the regrowing period. What could have been a fairly traumatic moment in my cancer career, turned into a lovely one. And it got even nicer. I was not allowed to pay. How kind is that? I was so overwhelmed, I nearly cried.
Following this, I had another indulgent time. For my fiftieth birthday back in November, I was given a voucher for a local beauty salon. And today was the day I used it. I had a manicure and pedicure so I am now sporting expertly painted nails in shimmering purple for my fingers and bright red for my toes. That I do not match disturbs more than I care to admit. I cannot think what possessed me. But I do love each colour. I just need to not see them together.
The rest of the day has been spent cooking up a storm for the freezer.