First the tips, then the explanation.
(1) Laugh. At least to yourself. Not at the person who was trying to compliment you.
(2) Reflect on the pleasant urge of women to be friendly. It's heartening. It just doesn't tell you anything about how you look.
(3) Consult the mirror. Are things that bad? Surely better than days of baldness. You can even wear mascara now.
As any woman who's been through chemo will tell you, first you're bald and then your hair grows back. Feels like porcupine prickles, so much so that when you lie down, you continue wearing those little cotton caps so the prickles don't hurt. After the porcupine phase comes the kinky hair phase. How kinky?
Think of Brillo. The steel wool inspiring--I believe--Phyllis Diller's hairstyle:
Didn't she once call herself The Brillo Queen? I love her humor as well as her wisdom: "Comedy," she said, "is tragedy plus time." She added, "There isn't a comic in the world who hasn't come out of tragedy," illustrating the notion with the way an irritant in an oyster shell, over time, creates a pearl.
Look at her hair! It's pure cancer-lady hair. Mine is shorter at the moment, but she's got my style exactly. When it grows out, I'll try, as I did the last time I had chemo, to tame it with the various greases and glops marketed by my local hair salons and drug stores.
But it will look just like Madame Diller's hair.
And it will provoke the following (actual remarks):
(1) "Oh, you have a new haircut!" This was meant to be friendly--uttered by a store employee at a place I hadn't been to in months. I explained, "Oh, this is just my hair growing out after chemo."
I saw I'd horrified her. I should have kept my mouth shut and said, "Thanks." I made her feel like she'd said something wrong, and I know she meant well. But how, I wondered, could anyone think what was corkscrewing out of my skull was an actual fashion statement?
(2) "Your hair looks great! So punk!" Ladies and gentlemen, the last style I wish to emulate is punk. True, I enjoy looking at punk. Walking through Berlin last weekend, I admired the tattooed people in leather and body piercings wearing black leather, rubber, and what we used to call Hooker Heels. All those people are young. They look to be under thirty.
If you're under thirty, you can do anything you want to your hair and you'll still look like you're under thirty.
If you're my post-menopausal age, you want to look younger. Once upon a time before cancer I had long, flowing wavy hair. That's what I want. Long. Flowing. Not Phyllis-Dillery.
I am told my hair will eventually calm down. It was starting to do just that five years after chemo. Then I needed more chemo. On the plus side, my earrings show more with cancer lady hair.
(3) You look great!
This one deserves a smile, a thank-you, and a mirror check. It means you no longer look like you're at death's door, but your skin is drier and you have a few more lines in your face. Don't fret! Use moisteurizer and remember: when your hair is longer and contains enough glop, your wrinkles aren't quite as prominent. (I tell myself this. And it's my very favorite delusion).
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