I know i write alot. I just have so much that I'm trying to catch up that I'm putting too much down at once. Chemo lasted three months. Every other week. I worked as much as I could. I cut off my hair as short as I could stand it and then would pull it out and watch it clump in my hands and then fall to the floor. One time, I was sitting on the porch and was absent-mindedly (sic?) pulling my hair out. When I looked at the grass, the mass I had created looked like a tumbleweed. It was so gross. Whatever hair was left was really blonde and I started to look like a little old man with a combover. I became an expert at scarves and hats. We bought a crazy expensive wig. I never wore it once. Mostly because the fall was so wet and windy. The last thing I needed was to be chasing my hair down the block. Cause that'd be cute. And not at all embarrassing. I thought that the hair thing would be the worst. I had really long hair, and I loved my hair. I never had to fight with it and was one of those people who hardly ever had a bad hair day. And then it was gone. But it wasn't as bad as I thought. I think because I had hyped it up so much in my mind. And it never all fully fell out. I was left with this white blonde baby wisps that would stick out from my scarves or hats, giving the appearance of hair. I hated seeing myself in the mirror bald, but I could deal with it.