Today is my 6 month anniversary of finishing chemotherapy. It doesn’t seem accurate because the effects of the treatment go on for so long after your last infusion.

I would say that I have felt free of the poison for about 2-3 months. It took that long for my fingernails to stop being wavy and brittle. For my body to drain of excess water weight. For my hair to grow long enough to mimic an intentional style (albeit unusual, but I suppose someone might choose the ‘3 month post chemo’ look).

Around the New Year I asked my oncologist if I could dye my hair, as it was growing in so gray. She said I had to wait 6 months post-chemo. Are you putting the puzzle pieces together yet?

When I was told I had to wait the full six months, I looked at the calendar and called my stylist to book an appointment. She normally doesn’t work on Mondays, but for me, her little cancer pet, she will do almost anything. Love you Tharie.

Today was the day, people. This mop needed taming and some color and we made it happen.

How boring would it be to dye my hair my normal ol’ brown? Very little about me feels like Grace of yore. 2017 Grace is much better at listening to her instincts and cares far less about other people’s opinions. 2017 Grace wants to live her life and have some fun along the way.

Another thing about today’s hair appointment–it comes down to control. I lost total control for about 9 months of my life last year. Wanting to maintain control over my thoughts, wishes and actions feels essential to me now. I couldn’t control losing my hair, but I sure as hell can make choices about it now. And I choose to exercise those rights by going balls to the wall.

I didn’t go to my hair appointment alone. A couple of friends joined me. One with an Emmy under her belt for a documentary film she produced and another who fitted me with a mic pack and carried a camera. We are women determined to show the world what it is like to be a survivor, or better, a thriver.

So what is under my hood? Well literally, a new hairstyle, but metaphorically you will find a bad mamajama who has learned the hard way the valuable lesson of living the life you want.