I can't believe it has been 3 1/2 weeks since my mastectomy. I continue to get stronger every day and am starting to feel like my old self. There are still a few rude reminders that I may not be 100% back to normal: I still get neuropathy (tingling numbness) in my feet if I walk around too much; pushing the shopping cart around Target is a burden, when it previously had been one of my favorite activities; squeezing lemons and limes for fresh juice in my spring cocktail now has to be done by my husband; opening jars has to be done by my husband; dragging the trash to the curb has to be done by...well, you get the picture. I secretly think Aaron likes having the extra opportunities to flex his muscles.
There are, however, also reminders that life is returning to normal. On Friday night, Aaron and I were getting ready to go to dinner. Usually this involves me touching up my makeup and putting on my wig. After globbing on some mascara (my lashes are growing in nicely, thank you very much), I said "I think I'm going to rock the fuzzy head in public tonight." It's been in the upper 80s for the past couple of days, and my wig is just too darn hot and itchy, especially atop my new found fuzz. Aaron was excited about the prospect of being seen with me: "People are going to think I'm way cooler than I actually am because I'm with you!" Yes, there are people who may think I decided to buzz off my hair because I'm just that hard core.
The reality is, of course, that my hair is finally growing in. After months of looking like a cue ball with a few straggly hairs that never fell out, my head is now covered with baby soft fuzz. This has caused a great deal of excitement in our household. For one thing, we think our beloved cat, Ollie, is feeling a tad jealous of his mom's new fuzz. When we're sitting on the couch at night watching TV, Aaron will find himself petting his wife instead of the cat. When I drop Aaron at work, I used to just get a kiss goodbye. Now I get a kiss AND a head rub. We had friends over on Saturday night to celebrate patio season, and I was greeted with many hugs and head rubs. It seems it's just instinctive to want to pet a fuzzy noggin, whether it be on a cat, dog or human. I can't blame them. In fact, I like it. Is our household big enough for a fuzzy cat AND a fuzzy wife? Time will tell. Luckily for the cat, my fuzzy state is only temporary.