chemo

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Friday, Sept 2: Forlornly Shorn (or, A Bad Buzz Cut)

"I look like my brother with mascara!" I shrieked. And then I wept. Until that moment, I had not felt like a cancer patient, nor looked like one. Now, there was no mistaking it. There were only a few other possibilities:  I had converted to some oppressive religious cult, had a bad case of head lice or was being readied for prison camp. But I have ovarian cancer. This is another dose of reality. This is really happening. Cancer scares me. I hate…