I'm not going bald. . . I am just going crazy!

Clip art from The Wonders Of Disney

Okay, my friends will be howling at this one.  The ones I told my story to earlier this week.  Tee-hee. I can't believe I am writing this, but you know, I've written worse.

I have worried that my hair was thinning, especially on the left side of my temple. Concerned the blood pressure medicine I had been taking for a year was the problem,  I Googled the pill to see what danger lurked in the background  and a possible - mind you, just possible, not really for sure - side-effect is hair loss. Yikes.

Convinced that this small possibility was my huge reality, I called to make an appointment with my doctor to discuss alternatives. Like, get me off the darn pill. The doctor was out of town, but I could see her new physician's assistant. The next day I was at the office, my speech memorized on why I did not need to be on blood pressure medicine.

The physician's assistant was great.  She is the age of Susan in Danger In Her Words.  We chatted like girlfriends on that visit, well I did. I told her about the book I was working on and that she could be the main character. Well, not really, she was married, in the medical field, and not the least neurotic. But she did have long dark hair and was the right age.

"Let me take your blood pressure now." She smiled sweetly and put the cuff on my arm.

Easy Peasy, I thought. She'd had me talking and laughing, she would see how low my blood pressure could go.

"Oh my. It's rather high." She shook her head. "Perhaps we should up your dose."

"White coat fever." I made a cross sign with my fingers and backed away from her.

"Make an appointment at the desk for next month. Let's keep an eye on this." She laughed at me. "I want to hear more about your book too."

I got in my car to head home somewhat discouraged. At the first red light, I pulled down my visor and peeked at my face. Don't do that in the bright sunlight is all I will say. Then I pulled back my hair on the left side and cringed. Where was the hair under the dark layers above it? A question I was sick of asking myself. I also noticed a small halo of grey right at my forehead and knew it was time to color again.

Not to drag this on until you shake your head and call me crazy, or boring, both names I have been known to answer to.

I color my own hair, and have forever. I cut it too. In earlier years, I did my own perms. Sitting at a beauty shop was not for me. Tried it, spent the big bucks, came home and hated what I'd pay for. At some point I made the decision if I didn't like the results, I could not like them for free, and do it myself.

The drug store was on the path to my house and I decided I needed to tackle this issue right away. I had actually colored my hair the week before, but only left the mixture on my head for half the suggested time. I had dinner with friends and could not wait longer. I've seen touch-up kits, but never tried one. It was time to do something different. The box had a mixing bowl, two tiny tubes, and a small brush. Ten minutes was all the time needed for results.

I mixed the color, grabbed the tiny little brush with my fingers, and went about lifting the layers of hair around my face, especially that dreaded area that made me sad, and slowly brushed color on every strand from roots to end. This was different than how I normally colored my hair, with haste, running my fingers and a nozzle over my head and rubbing in.

When my buzzer went off I washed my hair and blew it dry. I looked in the mirror and almost let out a yelp of joy. Where I thought I'd been bald was rich with color. I wasn't loosing my hair, I was an idiot who didn't know how to color it. What I thought was bald, what I had looked at without my glasses, was pale, almost silver white hair. Hair that I missed when I colored my hair in haste.

I called all my friends with the news. No one realized I colored my hair. Cat out of the bag.

Did turning sixty-five make me more peculiar than I normally am? I'll get back with you on that one. Right now I feel like my old self again. No pun intended with the word old. I bet if I had my blood pressure taken now, I'd get off that darn pill.

Clip art from The Wonders Of Disney

 

Age doesn't bother Minnie and she was created in 1928!

So I'm not letting it bother me . . .

 

 

Disclaimer: My thoughts on grey hair in the great debate if you should go grey or color. I color my hair because if I let the grey come in around my face I look tired. If I didn't color my hair, I'd have to wear more make-up! Some of my friends look damn sexy with their grey. When I finally kick the bucket, some good friend of mine better come color my hair or put bright red lipstick on me before the viewing at the funeral home. Just saying.....

 

 

My Hysterical Hysterectomy – Or Surviving Surgery With Six Dogs

Trust me. I promise not to hurt you.

 

   So, my big idea to start off 2014 by kicking it in the ass has a set-back. Surgery is in the cards for me. I’ve actually postponed it, knowing it was lurking out there, figuring if I ignored it, it would go away. I had bigger things to do late 2013, the biggest was completing my novel. I was assured waiting was not a worry as it is preventative surgery and not labeled as anything more than it is. Which is enough in my book. I am sure that down the road I will be happy that this is off my bucket list of things I really never planned, nor wanted to do. In the scheme of things it is a mere bump in the road. It does take a bite out of my favorite chant, no pain, no pain.

    My book will be available on Amazon and Kindle by Valentine’s Day. I’ve given birth to my first work of fiction and am excited. Then three days later I head to the hospital for my surgery. I was given the opportunity of going home at night or staying in the hospital overnight. What made my decision for me? Time. To come home that night I had to be at the hospital at 5:30 am. Seriously? That was harder to get my head around than the fact by the next day a part of me would be gone. So I opted to come in at 10 am and spend the night being catered to in my hospital bed. Which actually made everyone I know happy. No one wants me to go home to my house alone. I live with six dogs and my friends, who have never met my pack, are horrified I will be dealing with dogs as I deal with recovery. To tell you the truth, it worries me too.

    My dogs are my kids and my family. Try to explain to the medical community that you have six dogs, six dogs who are pretty finicky in their routines, six dogs that sleep in bed with me, the smallest, my seven pound Chi insists on curling up on my stomach. And that there are no other humans in the house to help. They don’t get it. I finally looked at the physician’s assistant and put it in words she might get. “It is like I have six babies at home that need to be fed, cleaned up after, and played with.

     “I thought you never had children.” She looked up from her chart.

      Really. She still wasn’t listening. Perhaps in Pre-Op on Monday they’ll get it. I need to know what to expect so I can keep my house in order.

     I have made some preliminary arrangements. My pet sitter will be with my dogs while I am alone in the hospital. They have a slumber party scheduled, I have a quiet night in room number (tbd) whatever. I guess I’ll finally discover what everyone who has spent a night in the hospital knows, it is not quiet or restful. On the bright side, perhaps there will be drugs.

     My medical issues over my life have been minimal. I have had one other surgery. Looking back, a book was paramount at that time too. In 2010 after my big launch party for The Unfaithful Widow, which was a grand fete at a bed and breakfast in Atlanta in honor of Animal Rescue, I ran into my kitchen in my bare feet and slipped on dog pee. After landing hard on my padded butt I realized I’d dislocated my shoulder. It was hard to miss, my left shoulder protruded out so far I got very scared. The hospital is within a sneeze of my house and my neighbor drove me over to the ER. I sat there alone, a small morphine drip, chattering that it was dog pee on my butt, I had not actually peed myself. The drugs took hold while I waited for three hours to see a doctor. In that short time I sold a few books by telling the staff that kept checking on me I had just published my book. If I had only realized there would be an interest, I could have packed a few copies to take with me. But wait, I was in terrible pain! Not only had I dislocated my shoulder, I tore my rotator cuff. I had surgery within the month. My dogs tiptoed on all four paws when I came home from the ER. “Who peed?” My tone was sharp. Their sweet faces told me all I needed to know, I would never know. I better learn to tread lightly or wear shoes.

     So, within a few days of my new book, Danger In Her Words, being released, history will repeat itself. I will have surgery. Easy-peasy I’ve been told. It’s a non-invasive procedure. I am waiting for my list of do’s and don’ts. I am sure top on that list will be, don’t let the dogs sleep with you! And so it will begin. My Hysterical Hysterectomy Recovery. Stayed tuned for the continuing posts if you have the stomach for it!

    On a note, I have a wonderful group of friends that have offered to help. I find it interesting that I am shy about having them in my home to see what life with six dogs entails. I am sure I will get over that as soon as my wimp factor hits.