Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Gone Today, Hair Tomorrow?
I have noticed a strange phenomenon of late. I'm not sure it's more than my imagination, but I seem to have five o'clock shadow on my head.I have not gone all cue-ball from any of my treatments and have in fact been periodically shaving my head. I have not had enough hair since February to look like anything other than an unfortunate nuclear reactor meltdown victim (or perhaps a moldy cantaloupe) and removing the fuzz has been the best way to deal with it. This time it seems different, though. I think there's more hair since switching chemotherapies. Maybe my follicles have as much vim and vigor as I do (I have so much decadron-induced vim that I'm posting to my blog in the stupid wee hours of the morning). The shadow on my head is very fine and soft, and there may not be an actual full head's worth of hair, but maybe I'll get enough to do a comb-over.
This evening Brian checked my nostrils with a penlight (I was complaining about my lack of nose hair as I reached for some yarn in a bag on the floor--my nose totally dripped on my hand) and commented that there seem to be some short ones in there. Maybe they're new, too. What I thought was my last strand of eyebrow gave up the ghost two weeks ago, but the other day I realized there are about eight more little hairs to take its place.
My wigs are very pretty and mostly convincing (the only one I'm skeptical of is the blonde one, but people who don't know me well are always raving about my "highlights" and don't notice anything amiss), but it does get tiresome to wear them. The convenience does not entirely negate the itchiness, heat, and worry that a vigorous sneeze could dislodge something at the most inopportune moment. Mousy fuzz of indeterminate color would be a welcome change.
Labels: baldness, Brian, chemo, Decadron, eyebrows, hair, wigs
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Groovy, Man.
We had a visit with Lita today. Dr. Hayes is often traveling, accepting awards and presenting papers and what not, so I don't actually see him that frequently. It's the price to be paid for having a rock-star oncologist (and by that I mean a very renowned expert in the field of breast cancer), but Lita can handle things just fine.
I'm feeling great, aside from a few residual digestive issues, which may be lingering aftereffects from the Avastin, so I should be mindful but not paranoid. I have no pain anywhere, which is pretty astonishing in light of where I was two years ago.
The EKG I had recently showed that my heart is better than normal. Even if I were to suffer some loss of function from the Adriamycin, it would do just fine. There is a lifetime limit on Adriamycin because it does cause heart damage, but according to Lita, if it does well and keeps me stable, it may be possible to take "heart protecting" drugs to be able to prolong its use.
She also said that I was looking great, and wanted to know what was different. Had I done my eyebrows differently, or something? I said that I've been wearing the blonde wig a lot, and today's was brown. I didn't mention (although this could also be a factor) that I've lost about ten pounds and am nearly in the weight range that was "normal" for me--without having to exert special effort--when I was healthy. I dunno. I just FEEL better. I've been chipper and snarky (to Brian's chagrin, no doubt).
We walked in the door today after coming home from infusion just in time to answer Lita's phone call: she had my lab results which weren't available at the appointment. My CA15.something-or-other test shows that my tumor markers have dropped about forty points. The CEA test (also for tumor markers) blipped up a little bit, but it is Lita's opinion that the CA15 is more specific to breast cancer and therefore more important. I'm pretty happy with that. She also said my liver function was "much improved," which is pretty groovy.
November 5 was the four-year anniversary of my mastectomy. October 30 was the two-year anniversary of being diagnosed with metastatic disease. This could be a depressing time of year if I wasn't feeling so terrific. I got good news, I got my energy back. I'm bald and gimpy, but you can't have everything.
I'm feeling great, aside from a few residual digestive issues, which may be lingering aftereffects from the Avastin, so I should be mindful but not paranoid. I have no pain anywhere, which is pretty astonishing in light of where I was two years ago.
The EKG I had recently showed that my heart is better than normal. Even if I were to suffer some loss of function from the Adriamycin, it would do just fine. There is a lifetime limit on Adriamycin because it does cause heart damage, but according to Lita, if it does well and keeps me stable, it may be possible to take "heart protecting" drugs to be able to prolong its use.
She also said that I was looking great, and wanted to know what was different. Had I done my eyebrows differently, or something? I said that I've been wearing the blonde wig a lot, and today's was brown. I didn't mention (although this could also be a factor) that I've lost about ten pounds and am nearly in the weight range that was "normal" for me--without having to exert special effort--when I was healthy. I dunno. I just FEEL better. I've been chipper and snarky (to Brian's chagrin, no doubt).
We walked in the door today after coming home from infusion just in time to answer Lita's phone call: she had my lab results which weren't available at the appointment. My CA15.something-or-other test shows that my tumor markers have dropped about forty points. The CEA test (also for tumor markers) blipped up a little bit, but it is Lita's opinion that the CA15 is more specific to breast cancer and therefore more important. I'm pretty happy with that. She also said my liver function was "much improved," which is pretty groovy.
November 5 was the four-year anniversary of my mastectomy. October 30 was the two-year anniversary of being diagnosed with metastatic disease. This could be a depressing time of year if I wasn't feeling so terrific. I got good news, I got my energy back. I'm bald and gimpy, but you can't have everything.
Labels: Adriamycin, Avastin, baldness, Brian, Dr. Hayes, Lita, liver, tumor marker, wigs
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
May Have Played the Cancer Card
This past weekend I drove to Cleveland to see my dad and visit with my Grandma, aunts, one uncle, and several of my cousin's kids. On the way there, I was pulled over by one of Michigan's finest. I was driving somewhat fast-ish, and figured I deserved a speeding ticket.
When he pulled me over and asked for my license, registration, and proof of insurance, I accidentally gave him the Saturn registration and utterly failed to find my proof of insurance (which turned out to be at home in a different purse). Then he pointed out to me that my license tags had expired. Of course...my birthday came and went. I completely forgot about renewing my tags as the Secretary of State had not seen fit--for the second time this year--to send a renewal notice. Then he also pointed out that the expired registration indicated the car was a four-door and not a two-door. "Were you aware of that?"
"No," I squeaked.
He went back to his vehicle and did whatever it is they do back there while you are squirming in your seat. I might have cried a little bit. I blew my nose.
When he came back, he told me he would let me off with a warning, but I needed to get it taken care of right away. "Be careful," he told me.
I was very surprised, since I actually had committed a number of offenses (although the only one I did on purpose involved the celerity with which I was zipping down the road). I had not put on a wig that day, figuring the back would just get tangled in the car and I'd swap the bandana for hair when I got closer to Grandma's house.
Maybe I inadvertently played the cancer card. Maybe he decided not to give the bald lady a ticket because he'd feel guilty doing it.
It does happen: I think people panic and become unsettled with somebody who looks visibly ill or different. I have on more than one occasion cut to the front of the baby frappuccino line at Race for the Cure. Hollywood stars get clothes and jewelry all the time for looking abnormally fabulous; have you ever seen the amazing bags of swag they get for going to the Oscars? No one's giving me iPods, furs, and expensive perfume. No one need be jealous of us if we play the card from time to time--whether we mean to or not.
Neupogen to boost your white blood cell count: $1000
A Year's worth of chemo and Avastin: $100,000
A trip to the ER for an emergency CT scan: $50
Getting out of a ticket because you're bald and feeble: priceless.
When he pulled me over and asked for my license, registration, and proof of insurance, I accidentally gave him the Saturn registration and utterly failed to find my proof of insurance (which turned out to be at home in a different purse). Then he pointed out to me that my license tags had expired. Of course...my birthday came and went. I completely forgot about renewing my tags as the Secretary of State had not seen fit--for the second time this year--to send a renewal notice. Then he also pointed out that the expired registration indicated the car was a four-door and not a two-door. "Were you aware of that?"
"No," I squeaked.
He went back to his vehicle and did whatever it is they do back there while you are squirming in your seat. I might have cried a little bit. I blew my nose.
When he came back, he told me he would let me off with a warning, but I needed to get it taken care of right away. "Be careful," he told me.
I was very surprised, since I actually had committed a number of offenses (although the only one I did on purpose involved the celerity with which I was zipping down the road). I had not put on a wig that day, figuring the back would just get tangled in the car and I'd swap the bandana for hair when I got closer to Grandma's house.
Maybe I inadvertently played the cancer card. Maybe he decided not to give the bald lady a ticket because he'd feel guilty doing it.
It does happen: I think people panic and become unsettled with somebody who looks visibly ill or different. I have on more than one occasion cut to the front of the baby frappuccino line at Race for the Cure. Hollywood stars get clothes and jewelry all the time for looking abnormally fabulous; have you ever seen the amazing bags of swag they get for going to the Oscars? No one's giving me iPods, furs, and expensive perfume. No one need be jealous of us if we play the card from time to time--whether we mean to or not.
Neupogen to boost your white blood cell count: $1000
A Year's worth of chemo and Avastin: $100,000
A trip to the ER for an emergency CT scan: $50
Getting out of a ticket because you're bald and feeble: priceless.
Labels: Avastin, baldness, birthday, chemo, CT scan, Dad, Grandma, hospital, Neupogen, Race for the Cure, vacation, wigs
Friday, April 06, 2007
Dumb as a Box of Hair
I actually have a box of hair in the back seat of my car right now, and it doesn't seem very dumb to me at all.
I already have two very nice wigs that I got from Les Cheveux (whose website is remarkably unhelpful, although I did have a good experience at the shop) in Birmingham, Michigan: a synthetic wig that is brown with gold highlights, and a very top-of-the-line human hair wig that has a "lace front" and is a beautiful red color.
I have a couple of costume wigs in weird colors; there's the purple bob with lilac highlights, the long bright turquoise wig that just doesn't look right because I look stupid with long hair, and the unfortunate blond job which I bought in a fit of optimism (luckily it wasn't expensive) after watching too many episodes of Alias. How is it that Jennifer Garner looks good in every hair color there is? I just don't get it...
I also have a quick headband-with-hair, but the seam is so itchy I hate it.
After the umpteenth time of getting my necklace clasp caught in the back of my nice wigs, however--at least it doesn't hurt when I disentangle it--I thought it might be nice to have a couple of shorter styles.
So I decided to get myself a short, flippy style and a bob. The package from Wowwigs.com was held for me at the post office, and I will be opening my box of hair when I get home.
I already have two very nice wigs that I got from Les Cheveux (whose website is remarkably unhelpful, although I did have a good experience at the shop) in Birmingham, Michigan: a synthetic wig that is brown with gold highlights, and a very top-of-the-line human hair wig that has a "lace front" and is a beautiful red color.
I have a couple of costume wigs in weird colors; there's the purple bob with lilac highlights, the long bright turquoise wig that just doesn't look right because I look stupid with long hair, and the unfortunate blond job which I bought in a fit of optimism (luckily it wasn't expensive) after watching too many episodes of Alias. How is it that Jennifer Garner looks good in every hair color there is? I just don't get it...
I also have a quick headband-with-hair, but the seam is so itchy I hate it.
After the umpteenth time of getting my necklace clasp caught in the back of my nice wigs, however--at least it doesn't hurt when I disentangle it--I thought it might be nice to have a couple of shorter styles.
So I decided to get myself a short, flippy style and a bob. The package from Wowwigs.com was held for me at the post office, and I will be opening my box of hair when I get home.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
No, It's not a Star Trek Convention
So this past weekend I met up with some ladies from the Young Survivors' Coalition Bulletin Board. I had no idea there were so many young women with breast cancer in this area...somebody on the boards asked, "What, is there something in the water?"
Anyway, we met at Big Buck--which I'd only ever driven past before on I-75. It has a giant beer bottle outside and much of the furniture and lighting fixtures inside are made with antlers. It is HUGE. There are tv screens everywhere, including the bathrooms.
So after a while the cameras materialized and various pictures were taken. I am relieved to know that I can give up on spending any time whatsoever drawing eyebrows on as they are invisible anyway. The most entertaining photo is the one where the people at varying stages of baldness and wigness took off our hair/hats/scarves and lined up in order of hair regrowth from cue-ball smooth to several months' growth. I cannot imagine what the other people in the restaurant must have thought.
See if you can spot me:
(Hint: I'm the short one.)
I only regret that I wasn't terribly outgoing and didn't manage to talk to the ladies at the other end of the table. Next month there is some talk of getting together for a cookie exchange; I will be happy to go with or without my hair.
Anyway, we met at Big Buck--which I'd only ever driven past before on I-75. It has a giant beer bottle outside and much of the furniture and lighting fixtures inside are made with antlers. It is HUGE. There are tv screens everywhere, including the bathrooms.
So after a while the cameras materialized and various pictures were taken. I am relieved to know that I can give up on spending any time whatsoever drawing eyebrows on as they are invisible anyway. The most entertaining photo is the one where the people at varying stages of baldness and wigness took off our hair/hats/scarves and lined up in order of hair regrowth from cue-ball smooth to several months' growth. I cannot imagine what the other people in the restaurant must have thought.
See if you can spot me:
(Hint: I'm the short one.)
I only regret that I wasn't terribly outgoing and didn't manage to talk to the ladies at the other end of the table. Next month there is some talk of getting together for a cookie exchange; I will be happy to go with or without my hair.
Labels: baldness, eyebrows, Michigan, star trek, wigs, YSC
Saturday, October 14, 2006
Cold Weather and my Winter Coat
I was unpleasantly surprised when I stepped outside yesterday by a temperature somewhere in the thirties. Before letting the door slam shut, I stuck my foot in the doorway and grabbed a pair of mittens (hand-knit angora and wool, very pretty but not, alas, very windproof) from the front closet. It was equally cold today, and made me wish for a hat.
I'm not sure I want to risk wearing a hat over my "cranial prosthesis." What if, when I go to take the hat off, the hair comes with it? I've often thought about whipping my hair off--especially when in the midst of a hot flash--for shock value, but doubt I'll actually do it.
I may soon be able to forgo wearing the detatchable hair. Not just because I and my medical team have talked about taking a break from the chemotherapy, but because my hair and eyebrows actually seem to be growing back.
I did not lose all of my hair initially, but shaved my head to eliminate the depressingness of having a pillowcase coated with what should have remained on my noggin. I would guess that about a third of my hair remained actively growing, and it dutifully grew in, sparse and icky, whereas my eyebrow hairs drifted away one by one until they were totally gone.
I'm not sure when I noticed that there seemed to be new growth. First I noticed that sometimes it looked like there was more hair on my head depending on where the light came from. The new hairs were evident when backlit, but otherwise invisible. The peach fuzz was also shorter than the sparse dark hairs and wiry greys poking straight up. The invisible fuzz was actually propping up the rest of the hair, rendering it utterly uncontrollable. I've got an undercoat, I realized.
One night I couldn't stand it anymore and took a pair of scissors to the whole mess and cut it all to the same length. My scalp is totally visible and it looks stupid, but the hair feels really neat and I can't stop touching it.
I've actually been worried about this. Does the new growth mean that I'm becoming resistant to the chemotherapy? Has it stopped working? I asked Lita, and she assured me it was not a stupid question. Her explanation was that initiating chemotherapy can "irritate" the folicles, but it's not uncommon for people to have their hair continue growing while on taxol. Abraxane appears to be similar.
My winter coat is not terribly luxurious as of yet, but give it time. It will be done just in time for spring.
I'm not sure I want to risk wearing a hat over my "cranial prosthesis." What if, when I go to take the hat off, the hair comes with it? I've often thought about whipping my hair off--especially when in the midst of a hot flash--for shock value, but doubt I'll actually do it.
I may soon be able to forgo wearing the detatchable hair. Not just because I and my medical team have talked about taking a break from the chemotherapy, but because my hair and eyebrows actually seem to be growing back.
I did not lose all of my hair initially, but shaved my head to eliminate the depressingness of having a pillowcase coated with what should have remained on my noggin. I would guess that about a third of my hair remained actively growing, and it dutifully grew in, sparse and icky, whereas my eyebrow hairs drifted away one by one until they were totally gone.
I'm not sure when I noticed that there seemed to be new growth. First I noticed that sometimes it looked like there was more hair on my head depending on where the light came from. The new hairs were evident when backlit, but otherwise invisible. The peach fuzz was also shorter than the sparse dark hairs and wiry greys poking straight up. The invisible fuzz was actually propping up the rest of the hair, rendering it utterly uncontrollable. I've got an undercoat, I realized.
One night I couldn't stand it anymore and took a pair of scissors to the whole mess and cut it all to the same length. My scalp is totally visible and it looks stupid, but the hair feels really neat and I can't stop touching it.
I've actually been worried about this. Does the new growth mean that I'm becoming resistant to the chemotherapy? Has it stopped working? I asked Lita, and she assured me it was not a stupid question. Her explanation was that initiating chemotherapy can "irritate" the folicles, but it's not uncommon for people to have their hair continue growing while on taxol. Abraxane appears to be similar.
My winter coat is not terribly luxurious as of yet, but give it time. It will be done just in time for spring.
Labels: baldness, chemo, cold, eyebrows, hair, hat, hot flash, wigs
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Hey, Let's Go See the Freakshow Downstairs
This evening after we had gotten home from a hot evening of fishing and a side trip to Subway for some sandwiches, I noticed that there were two kids looking into our apartment through the front window. I thought it was a little strange before realizing that I had taken my hat and scarf off (it was too hot to wear a wig to go fishing), and when the kids saw me looking at them, they took off running and ran upstairs to the apartment on the second floor.
A little while later, they were back, again trying to peek inside.
I don't really know what to do about this. It's not really appropriate under any circumstances for people to be purposefully peeking in somebody's front window (Brian says they have done this before), and I wanted to perhaps try to talk to the mother about their behavior.
Brian suggested that 10 p.m. on a Saturday night might not be the best time to address this issue. I think he may be right.
Even under normal circumstances I wouldn't want to have somebody looking through my front window into my home. It's worse now, though, because home is the only place I really felt like I didn't have to conceal my loss of hair. But now apparently I do, and I shouldn't have to. I can understand kids having curiosity about the person who looks different or funny with no hair, but I shouldn't have to feel like I'm a freakshow.
We may try talking to the mother tomorrow morning; I don't know for sure. I don't know whether to bring up my circumstances or whether that would just make everyone feel worse than is necessary.
At this point, however, I'm less inclined to care about somebody else feeling bad than I am about myself. I have enough to worry about, and if somebody has to get embarrassed for me to feel better about being in my own home, then fine. Maybe they deserve it.
A little while later, they were back, again trying to peek inside.
I don't really know what to do about this. It's not really appropriate under any circumstances for people to be purposefully peeking in somebody's front window (Brian says they have done this before), and I wanted to perhaps try to talk to the mother about their behavior.
Brian suggested that 10 p.m. on a Saturday night might not be the best time to address this issue. I think he may be right.
Even under normal circumstances I wouldn't want to have somebody looking through my front window into my home. It's worse now, though, because home is the only place I really felt like I didn't have to conceal my loss of hair. But now apparently I do, and I shouldn't have to. I can understand kids having curiosity about the person who looks different or funny with no hair, but I shouldn't have to feel like I'm a freakshow.
We may try talking to the mother tomorrow morning; I don't know for sure. I don't know whether to bring up my circumstances or whether that would just make everyone feel worse than is necessary.
At this point, however, I'm less inclined to care about somebody else feeling bad than I am about myself. I have enough to worry about, and if somebody has to get embarrassed for me to feel better about being in my own home, then fine. Maybe they deserve it.
Labels: baldness, Brian, hair, hat, kids, scarf, wigs
Friday, June 23, 2006
Samson's Locks Don't Come as a Cranial Prosthesis
Samson is the biblical hero whose mighty strength lay in his fabulous unshorn hair. When his hair is cut, he loses his power.
I only mention this because today I have hair again for the first time in weeks, and I feel completely and utterly exhausted. The tendrils wafting about my face are most certainly NOT imbuing me with any kind of energy, strength, verve, or power. I just want to crawl into bed and sleep, which is a little bit unfortunate because I'm not currently in a position to do so (I'm tying at work...shhhh, don't tell).
I don't know if my physical weakness today is owing to wearing hair that isn't mine, or is just a natural ebb or flow of the chemotherapy. Maybe, as with Samson, the loss of my natural hair spells weakness and feebleness. Maybe it's just a result of a draining course of medication. Maybe adding extra hair is exacerbating my weakness.
Maybe it's just coincidence and I'm being foolish.
I actually do like my new hair, but I'm not sure I have the energy to fight with the insurance company on this issue. When I asked over the phone, I was told that wigs are "not covered" by my insurance policy. The hair store advised me to refer to it as a "cranial prosthesis" and gave me a list of steps to try fighting the insurance company. After all, they would pay for a breast prosthesis if I wanted or needed one; this really isn't different--except that the top of one's head is more difficult to conceal.
I'm sure bald men everywhere are playing their tiny little violins just for me. But it's not a natural, gradual genetic circumstance that led me to this. It was sudden, shocking, and one of the more horrible outward signs of this betrayal by my body. Some of my breast cells are going nuts, have migrated, and are attacking my spine and organs; and now the treatment is leveling destruction on one of the features I've always felt pretty good about. It just isn't fair.
Of course life isn't fair, but it doesn't have to be unmitigatingly awful, either.
Brian says he likes my bald 'do. I guess it's not the worst it could be; at least the treatment seems to be having a good effect on the tumor markers. Dr. Hayes views me as a stunning success story when you compare my current status to how I was doing in December. Then, I couldn't walk, I could move without excruciating pain, I was vomiting daily, and wasn't strong enough to bear chemotherapy. I suppose I should be grateful that things are better than they were.
I still want my hair back, though, dammit.
I only mention this because today I have hair again for the first time in weeks, and I feel completely and utterly exhausted. The tendrils wafting about my face are most certainly NOT imbuing me with any kind of energy, strength, verve, or power. I just want to crawl into bed and sleep, which is a little bit unfortunate because I'm not currently in a position to do so (I'm tying at work...shhhh, don't tell).
I don't know if my physical weakness today is owing to wearing hair that isn't mine, or is just a natural ebb or flow of the chemotherapy. Maybe, as with Samson, the loss of my natural hair spells weakness and feebleness. Maybe it's just a result of a draining course of medication. Maybe adding extra hair is exacerbating my weakness.
Maybe it's just coincidence and I'm being foolish.
I actually do like my new hair, but I'm not sure I have the energy to fight with the insurance company on this issue. When I asked over the phone, I was told that wigs are "not covered" by my insurance policy. The hair store advised me to refer to it as a "cranial prosthesis" and gave me a list of steps to try fighting the insurance company. After all, they would pay for a breast prosthesis if I wanted or needed one; this really isn't different--except that the top of one's head is more difficult to conceal.
I'm sure bald men everywhere are playing their tiny little violins just for me. But it's not a natural, gradual genetic circumstance that led me to this. It was sudden, shocking, and one of the more horrible outward signs of this betrayal by my body. Some of my breast cells are going nuts, have migrated, and are attacking my spine and organs; and now the treatment is leveling destruction on one of the features I've always felt pretty good about. It just isn't fair.
Of course life isn't fair, but it doesn't have to be unmitigatingly awful, either.
Brian says he likes my bald 'do. I guess it's not the worst it could be; at least the treatment seems to be having a good effect on the tumor markers. Dr. Hayes views me as a stunning success story when you compare my current status to how I was doing in December. Then, I couldn't walk, I could move without excruciating pain, I was vomiting daily, and wasn't strong enough to bear chemotherapy. I suppose I should be grateful that things are better than they were.
I still want my hair back, though, dammit.
Labels: baldness, chemo, Dr. Hayes, hair, insurance, tired, wigs
Friday, June 16, 2006
What's the Buzz, Tell Me What's a-Happening
Since I tired of the perpetual rain of short hairs, and I tired of having the coat of hair removed from my pillow after each use, I asked Brian to buzz the rest of my hair the other night. Instead of looking like Smeagol, I now resemble a slightly pasty sea urchin.
Last week I went to a swanky wig store in Birmingham, Michigan and was fitted for two "cranial prosthetics." They gave me a sheet with step-by-step details on getting your insurance company to pay for your wigs. The first advice is to not call it a wig, but a "cranial prosthesis." My insurance company has informed me that wigs are not covered under my policy. The guide sheet points out that a wig is something worn for cosmetic purposes, whereas a cranial prosthesis is worn to cover hair lost due to medical reasons, and is no different from a prosthetic worn to replicate a breast lost due to medical reasons.
The first wig was supposed to be done in a week, but I have yet to hear from the wig lady. In the meantime I am wearing scarf/hat combos. Today I look rather like a gypsy. The stubbly hairs that are left are helping hold my green-blue silk scarf in place which my dad brought back from his trip to Thailand. I'm worried it will slip and fall off, revealing my new prison-inmate 'do.
I feel very conspicuous and weird, in any case. I seriously doubt a wig will fix that, since almost everyone around me will know it's a wig.
Oh well. Damned if I do, damned if I don't.
Last week I went to a swanky wig store in Birmingham, Michigan and was fitted for two "cranial prosthetics." They gave me a sheet with step-by-step details on getting your insurance company to pay for your wigs. The first advice is to not call it a wig, but a "cranial prosthesis." My insurance company has informed me that wigs are not covered under my policy. The guide sheet points out that a wig is something worn for cosmetic purposes, whereas a cranial prosthesis is worn to cover hair lost due to medical reasons, and is no different from a prosthetic worn to replicate a breast lost due to medical reasons.
The first wig was supposed to be done in a week, but I have yet to hear from the wig lady. In the meantime I am wearing scarf/hat combos. Today I look rather like a gypsy. The stubbly hairs that are left are helping hold my green-blue silk scarf in place which my dad brought back from his trip to Thailand. I'm worried it will slip and fall off, revealing my new prison-inmate 'do.
I feel very conspicuous and weird, in any case. I seriously doubt a wig will fix that, since almost everyone around me will know it's a wig.
Oh well. Damned if I do, damned if I don't.
Labels: baldness, Brian, hair, hat, insurance, scarf, wigs
