Woke up, fell outa bed, dragged a comb across my head

A Day in the Life - The Beatles

It was a sign.   Once the comb actually did it's work - well, at least tried to - I knew that I had crossed a barrier.   It was time for a hair cut.

I booked an appointment with my usual hair stylist feeling somewhat embarrassed to walk into the salon with already extremely short hair - although hair with no style whatsoever.    As I sat there relaying my story to the stylist (who had apparently also lost her hair to breast cancer a number of years back) I felt a relief; a crossing over.   I was shocked to see the amount of hair on the floor while still sporting enough on my head to style.   I felt great!

One year ago - almost to the day - I was watching my hair fall to the floor.  I was pulling out hand falls - no, not 'pulling' but catching handfuls before they fell on my lap.   I was entering a new phase and becoming a cancer patient.

I am now back in the real world - hair cuts are part of that (my apologies to the follically challenged).   I'm not hiding behind the physical signs of cancer.   When I walk into the chemo clinic I don't look like a cancer patient and I walk in there with more confidence.