Sort of. Yesterday was two years since my diagnosis. And since then I haven't been myself, I've been this tired, crotchety old bald lady, with ailments and a pill box who orders orange juice and Perrier water at bars. I can't manage to be the jolly wig wearer who lifts everybody else's spirits, even though I know there's only so much of me that everybody can take.
At least I don't engage strangers in bathroom conversations. I'M TALKING ABOUT YOU, CELLMATE. Dude, good thing I hadn't had breakfast yet when she started in this morning.
Cutie doc and I came up with a plan to handle the falling hair. Make a helmet out of leukoplast (white hospital tape), sticky side down. Remove helmet and turn it inside out. Replace helmet on head. [Unfortunately there's no mavroplast (black tape) which would be a little more attractive.]
ATTENTION AU GRISBI.
1 comment:
Lou REESE says www dot kosmos936 dot com if you're as sick of Diesi as Arfur is.
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