The Crop...

As you probably read from my previous post, I've been eating so much healthy food that I think its only fair that my body enjoys a good weekend before my operation next week. So tonight as I'm typing this, my hub is at Wok-to-Go picking up a take-away and i've just had a bath and am wrapped in a dressing gown wearing big thick slipper socks.

I'm not sure what we're going to do this weekend but it's my last 'normal' weekend for a good few months so I think a few glasses of wine will play a part in it.

So anyway, my news today is that last night I had my hair cropped. And i'm not sure if I like it yet? It's not horendous, but its not fabulous. But its my way of sticking my fingers up at the peanut size tumor that I made my hair short first, and if its going to fall out then there's not much to fall out!

It's odd how vanity kicks in when you're fighting an illness. I've been reading the 'young women with breast cancer' (yes I DO fit in that category!!!) leaflets given to me by my nurse that states that apparently hair loss is one of the most traumatic experiences in this whole escapade.

Really? Are we that vain a society that we worry how we look whilst we're fighting a possible life-threatening illness?

Well when I'm fighting a cold, I look like sh*t. And I don't care who see's me.

So now, as I embark on a war to beat cancer, I don't care if my hair falls out. I don't care if i'm too tired to get out of bed. In fact i don't care if i look like i've been mauled by 20 tigers.

so there!