Matt is ready for the upcoming Doig vs. Hodgkins fight. He'll be damned if this experience takes anything from him, let alone his hair, so he cut his own hair today before the chemo has a chance at it. I'd be willing to bet the last time a non-trained stylist cut his hair was when he was about twelve, when my mom wanted to trim a little around the ears--not known for her finesse, she cut his ear (not that it's a small target, but still...). This morning, he bravely kept the post-traumatic stress at bay while his kids jumped at the chance to wield scissors on a normally off-limits subject.
I think he looks just fine, especially considering my husband gives himself the exact same hair cut every month without battling cancer. And with his lovely wife already beside him, who needs hair?
He bought himself a couple of suave fedoras, and is on the lookout for some Dolphins, Canes, and Heat skully caps that he can wear accordingly as he rests and watches sports this fall in between treatments. He is also seriously considering buying--and I truly hope he follows through with this--a 70's style toupee like the ones found in the Beastie Boys' Sabotage video.
Sept. 14th: bone marrow biopsy to ensure the cancer is not anywhere else and port installation in his chest. This, in Matt's words, is his "best opportunity--through a freak electrical storm or gamma ray mishap--to inadvertently contract some sort of super power". My children will certainly be keeping their fingers crossed.
Sept. 15th: Treatment begins. Again, in Matt's words--"When I take the chemo I'm going to listen carefully, hoping to pick up the sound of tumor screams as the poison does its work. And I will smile."