I knew there was something I wanted to say. "Hair."
Being the first week of the month, I was prompted by the grey and bleh-dishwater-blonde roots to dye my hair. Mmmmm. It looks like a fake hair dye -- and it will until I'm out in the sun. Then the right bits will bleach out and make me look like an old beach bum. Yeah, me, at 51, a California Blonde. It suits me, I think. Especially the part with "hair."
Five months after the last shaving, I have to use conditioners because my hair tangles. Next month when I dye my roots, I'll have to buy TWO boxes of dye because my hair is so thick, one isn't enough. I laugh maniacally when I contemplate how fast my hair grows -- soon it will take over the world!
Seriously, having hair again is quite wonderful. Yes, I'll need to keep it combed, dyed, trimmed, etc. but I don't have to wear a hat to keep my scalp from sunburn, or to keep passers-by from being horrified.
My friend's hair has grown back in curly and thick and a beautiful silver color. It's lovely! She gripes at me just a little because my hair is so long, but I think she likes her silver, and her curls.
Just because her hair isn't as long isn't an issue. She's alive, and chemo is done, and she's alive, and every time I comb my unruly hair, I think of her, and thank God for the extension of her life.
And hair. Hair is good. Both of us think so.