December 3, 2014
I didn’t want to go wig shopping today. Seriously, is this part of my new reality?
Yes, it is.
While I my stomach may have been churning as I walked into the doors of the Subiaco shop, I walked out much more settled and content.
I was anxious, pretty much in denial going in. I was much more relaxed 40 minutes later.
Fiona, one of my most trusted and delightfully honest friends came with me. She knows me better than I know myself sometimes and I’m so glad she came with me. She helped me get words out (well sort of.). She took control for me and asked most of the questions and when the sales assistant worked with us to find out what I was after, Fee said it perfectly — “She just wants to look like Trace.”
And I think that’s where we ended up. The first wig I tried on was the one I bought. Fee picked it from the line-up of mannequin heads that seem to stare at you as they rest on row after row of shelving.
“Holy shit,” Fee said as the sales person slipped my new hair carefully onto my balding head.
“It looks just like your hair.” She couldn’t have said anything else to help put me more at ease and make me not hate the situation as much as I thought I would!
Now at least when I really don’t want to be stared at or questioned I can throw it on and get on with it. People who know me will pick it, but those that don’t won’t have much of an idea. The colouring is pretty close to mine.
Today is Abbey’s 10th birthday.
Buying a wig to help conserve vanity is not what you envisage doing on the day of your eldest child’s first big birthday milestone.
But was there ever going to be a good day to do it?
Chemotherapy is robbing me of my hair, that hair that I spend countless time and money on. I don’t want to associate getting a wig because of what this poison is doing to my body with my daughter’s birthday.
But again reality strikes and I’m just glad I had one of my beautiful friends by my side to help walk me through this next stage of my so-called ‘journey’.