Post Chemo Comic Consequences

My chemo sessions stopped eight months ago.

Yet, my brain still gets fuzzy. Not that that is all bad sometimes.

I might continue to blame that therapy, not my aging brain, for my forgetfulness in finding my house key, knowing my phone number or blanking out on someone's name whom I just met minutes before.

Thankfully, my nails returned to their healthy status. My eyebrows and lashes again accept gobs of mascara. My hair while sparse and patchy in the first post chemo weeks filled in nicely when someone suggested organic peppermint shampoo. 

One lesson learned was in lieu of the shampoo do not rinse with organic peppermint tea. My baby fuzz turned a light green hue, months prior to St. Patrick's Day.

Game changer came once the shampoo revved up my abused hair follicles.

So what's the problem, you might ask?

Really, its sheer vanity. Its not the coloring.
Already mostly gray, it is now a brilliant white that shines constantly.

No, its the curls.

Known to turn the straightest hair in a tumble of twirls, chemo caused my previously wavy mane to erupt into wild coils. I keep cutting it and it grows faster and curlier than before.

At first, my new look reminded me of septuagenarians and octogenarians who every Saturday sat in beauty shops getting their body waves and perms only to emerge like two-legged pampered poodles. 

Narcissism heralds I am still almost a decade away in reaching that age.

Then I realized something else.

I look like Little Orphan Annie's granny!

That observation made me laugh. Not a hearty one, but a brief chuckle at least. My ego began to lessen.

Don't get me wrong. 

I am very grateful to have full thick hair regardless of the color. I can even accept the curly do, while hoping others' assurances are correct. Everything will eventually straighten out.

Until then Annie, Sandy along with Daddy Warbucks and I have some living to do.