My friend Christie took me to a store in Woburn this morning called "Hairmate" so that I could shop for a wig while I still have hair to match before it falls out after the radiation treatments are done in six weeks. It was the first time that anyone, other than Lou and medical personnel, has actually seen my shaved head and post-surgical train-track scars.
I felt a little self-conscious at first, but truth-be-told, it was kind of a relief to let it all hang out. This is what it all looks like, I said to myself, and there's no need to make it look "good." The thing I found most interesting was that I had a "prescription" for a wig "prosthesis" from my doctor (insurance will cover most of it. The guy who fitted me, Dante, was very sensitive and skilled at trying to match my so-called "natural" color (who can remember what that looks like anymore after so many chemically-enhanced blond highlights?!?!?) and the texture and flow of my curls. The wigs felt a little hot and itchy, and I might end up mostly wearing scarves for comfort, but it's nice to know that I have will have the choice to have "hair" when I want it in a couple of months.