The Golden Girls Wig Shop

Wig shopping was easily my favorite activity in the two week whirlwind of appointments and tests immediately following my diagnosis. 

At my initial meeting with my Oncologist, we decided to do chemotherapy neoadjuvantly, (before surgery). So, chemo was to be my first hurdle.

I was informed that hair loss was a definite, to be expected. The breadth of that forecast was something that would take months of baldness to fully understand. On this day, I simply am going shopping.

While waiting for an astonishing slew of prescriptions to be filled, I wander into the medical lobby “boutique” and start perusing the array of synthetic wigs adorning the shelves. A sweet and helpful sales associate, Betty White-incarnate, steps forward and asks if she can help me.

Yes you can! Show me this array of new-hairstyles-in-an-instant.

Shopping always has the potential to be fun; I find it to be especially so when seeking something I actually need. (Sans the guilt over excess, the acquisition process is much more enjoyable.) I definitely don’t own a wig and am about to really need one, so bring it on Betty White. 

My enthusiasm for this endeavor is profoundly naive. While I am choosing to focus on the positive of having new "hair," I am, of course, oblivious to what a year and a half without my own hair will be like.

I try on ultra-short styles to medium-long. I see myself in an instant variety of colors from strawberry blond to raven brown. 

My girl Betty looks to be enjoying dressing me up, but I’m also detecting a projection of empathy. She looks at me just a little too long each time we make eye contact. She touches my shoulder and tilts her head when we talk.

Yes Betty, I’m rather young, very sick and about to lose my lovely long hair, (which suddenly seems lovelier since knowing of its impending absence.)  However, this highlighted looking get-up is quite nice. 

My husband is confused as to why I am not considering anything that actually looks like my hair. In the absence of the need to camouflage my condition, I feel a freedom to try any wild, un-me style that I desire.

I decide to go with the highlighted, primped-looking one in a medium length. Just plop it on and instant pizazz - that sounds like what I need.