Losing hair, gaining perspective.

This week I realized that no matter how old or independent I am, it still makes me feel better to have my mom around when I'm sick. Or sad. Or both.

Last week, I cut my hair in preparation for losing it. I was going to try "Cold Capping," which despite what the Netflix's series @DeadtoMe portrays...is incredibly time-consuming and miserable. You start by arriving an extra half-hour early for your appointment, (well, in North Dakota, you start by coming in the clinic from just being out in -20 degree temps, you'd think that would help), wetting your whole head, then mounting an ice pack to your head that is supposed to be comparable to the temperature of taking an ice pack off dry ice (this was the old method.) The ice pack is smooshed down further on your head with a neoprene-looking helmet. The ice pack is hooked up to a machine that keeps it cold, so you look awesome your entire chemo treatment. But THEN, you get to stay after for another couple of hours after treatment ends with that puppy on your head. I didn't have the will to be that cold, nor the time to waste away from my family...so I chose the path most taken by going hairless.

No matter how many steps I took in preparation, I still wasn't ready for how jarring it was to pull a fistful of hair out by just running my hand through it or how I looked when I was buzzed. And thank God I've had my Brookes (cousin Brooke and friend Brooke ) with me during both those moments, so I had a safe place to land.

Cousin Brooke has, unfortunately, been through all this before with other people and has been next to me for every appointment and ugly step so far. I'm convinced that the universe aligned so the starting date for her new nursing job got pushed to after I started treatment. Her knowledge (and her pushiness) and her sarcasm has been a necessity for me. We love each other and annoy each other. Family defined.

I can't even begin to list off all the things people have already done or said or offered to make me feel comforted right now. I keep saying thank you (and truthfully, I'm also forgetting so don't be offended if I do), but the words "thank you" aren't sufficient.

But while I laid in bed most of this week, my mom organized my house. Managed my kids. Tried to scrub away the stress and sadness and heartbreak by scrubbing my floors. She did things in a couple days I haven't been able to tackle for years. There's nothing like having your mom there when your sick. And sad.