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The little bristles of my whiffle-cut are falling all over the place. It started this afternoon, and just yesterday -- nay, this morning -- they were as secure as if they'd be there forever.
This is just what the medical oncologist predicted. "Let's see," she said, "Your first treatment is September 12? You will lose your hair September 30." Amazing thing, modern science. So glad I had my head shaved; it would be very difficult to stay calm about this while pulling big clumps out of my head.
I have towels on all the furniture I normally use, and we're not changing the sheets until the moulting has abated. Then, like a bird, I will await my new feathers.
I hear that when it grows back it arrives with the ability to play the piano and speak a foreign language!
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