all follicles reporting for duty

Too bad. I wish I had a "before" shot of this cheek, when there were absolutely no hairs growing at all. I was completely streamline there for awhile -- if I hadn't felt like crap, it would have been a great time to be an elite swimmer.

Being totally hairless was strange, but actually felt weirdest on the face. The face looks smooth on most women, but is of course wrapped in its (generally) discreet fleece at all times. I hadn't realized how hairy we womenfolk actually are. At the present time, I am practically growing sideburns. Move your head around in front of your screen so you can get the full effect. The new hairs are plentiful and dark. I am reminding myself of the movie "The Incredibly Shrinking Woman," in which, just before disappearing altogether, Lily Tomlin succeeds in reversing the shrinking process -- only to grow and grow until we see that instead of just coming back to her normal self, she is now uncontrollably increasing in size.

At this rate I will end up as hairy as a possum -- with the same combo of gray and black from head to toe, it seems. A possum comes to mind only because we just caught one about an hour ago and took it for a scenic drive to an undisclosed location. I hope it doesn't find its way back (it was hell trying to get that little blindfold to stay on), because it was eating our life savings in the cat's food. Also, whenever the dog spotted the possum on the porch, he would completely flip out and begin barking in tongues.

Anyway, the possum was hairy, like my face.

The family wants me to say that this is not noticeable to them. This is a kind family. It's just that someone needs to disclose that these things happen after chemo. Someone needs to tell you that every single hair follicle on your body closed up shop and patted its plot of land with a trowel during chemotherapy, to the extent that when hairs began to sprout again, they were all in-grown, having to break through holes in the skin that had been sealed for so long. I am routinely scrubbing my arms and legs with loofah gloves to try to open up the hair holes and unfurl the hairs that are stuck just beneath the skin. I am part hairy, part bumpy -- moving toward, it seems, being just plain hairy.

I want you to know, too, that the sensation of having nose hairs still feels very new. That's strange, isn't it? I had nose hairs for 54 years, then 4 months without, and I am still aware of the "new" feel. Why would that be? Since each exhale brings a noticeable sensation of air-wafting-through-something, it keeps feeling like maybe I have a fleck of nosina (no-zee-na, a family term) in there and that maybe it is showing. It's not (har), but I keep checking anyway.

Want to see something gross? That's how I've opened with the kids. Then I stick the spear part of a nail clipper all the way down under the big toenails. They're hanging on by the sides (the nails, not the kids), but there's nothing under the nail itself. The spear-under-nail effect is eye-popping and gratifying. Like a kid who can bend some joint in a weird way and gross out her friends.

I have several drafts of posts that I can't seem to bring to fullness. They're stuck beneath the surface, like all those hairs, and just can't seem to break through. These posts are about things that matter -- things like the recent auction of my dad's art collection, friendship, paradise, my work, wholeness, grief, all that. I don't know why the posts about follicles, nose hairs, and neuropathy come so easily, why the need to document these small things.

The neuropathy? Don't get me started. But isn't it strange that it builds for so long after chemo is over? It's like those scenes in roadrunner cartoons, where Wile E. Coyote is burnt to a crisp but stands there for a long moment, blinking and confused, before crumbling away.