It started yesterday. I noticed a certain unnamed subsection of my body hair was making a mass exodus. Since it wasn’t on my head, it was amusing. Many Brazilian bikini wax jokes ensued.

This morning I ran my hands through my hair and there it was, a clump. I have been waiting for this day both patiently and impatiently. On one hand, I hoped I would be the 2% who doesn’t lose their hair. On the other hand, I knew I was the 98% and I just wanted it overwith.

After going to the boxing gym and feeling like myself for approx 30 minutes, I came home to shower. That is when the party really started.

Shampoo went in and as I lathered, out came the hair. Not giant clumps, but clumps nonetheless. It became obsessive for me. I couldn’t stop pulling through my hair. Anyone who knows me well knows that once I start a project, I want it done now. There is approximately a 0% chance of me enjoying a drawn out process of shedding my own head of hair.

As physically strong as I feel (which I am unspeakably happy about btw), I am feeling that much weaker emotionally. This is rocking the mental boat pretty intensely. I spent a lot of time thinking about the fun pre-chemo hair makeover. I spent a lot of time enjoying my mohawk in all of its color incarnations. Never thought much about it actually fleeing the premises.

I wept as I blow dried my hair knowing that with every pass of the round brush, I was becoming closer and closer to baldness. It was cathartic. It was torturous.

And let me clue you in on another fun cancer fact- as your hair follicles die and release the hair, there are a few days of time where your head itches and eventually hurts. I am currently in the hurt phase. I have spent a big portion of the day itching my head and tapping on it like I had a tight weave.

I want desperately for this part to be over. I could have just gone and had it shaved today, but I wasn’t ready. Will I ever be ready? Probably not, but I am waiting for a ‘sign’ from follicular heaven that it is time. Until then, I will keep collecting my defected hairs in a ziplock bag like some kind of very special episode of Hoarders.

As luck would have it, today was my appointment with a local wig guru who was recommended to me via a sweet, sweet friend who knows her way around a ‘cranial prosthesis.’ It was a last-minute appointment and I was unable to find anyone to go with me. I was super nervous about this. I didn’t want to do it alone, but turns out it was actually a lot of fun! This wig maven knew her shit and got me into my new look within 3 tries.

Allow me to introduce you to Francesca- Frankie for short. Frankie has a high-powered management job that allows her to travel internationally rather often (always Business Class or better). She loves this aspect of her work as she is a born explorer. She loves art history, gelato and giant sunglasses.

Frankie probably won’t be an everyday alias, as Grace is pretty lazy and loves a good Hermes scarf turban, but when she comes out to play- watch out, everybody.

I am in the middle of the process right now. I would guesstimate that I have lost about 30% of my hair. I hope the remaining follicles give up on their futile territorial quest on my head soon, as they are fighting a losing battle.

I feel like I am fighting another losing battle this week. Not cancer. We all know that I am going to beat cancer and make it look like a total asshole for coming for me. I feel like I am losing the battle of composure. Many family and friends called me today to check in. I couldn’t answer a single call. I feel the waterworks pushing at the door of my sanity.

If you encounter me this week, tread lightly. Give me a hug, tell me I am pretty, keep your expectations low.