My last day in the hospital
finally arrived two weeks after my admittance. But the oxygen was an issue. I
really didn’t want the hassle of using oxygen at home and it all hinged on
getting the bright red ball on their measuring gadget up, up, up. I struggled
and struggled through a few times but—yes—I succeeded at last. My oxygen level
reached the level needed. I was free from it at last.
Another problem then arose.
The doctor informed me I needed at least another week of antibiotics by IV. No
problem, I thought, but when I asked the insurance company for a home nurse to
administer it they told me I had to do it myself. Me?! I went home still weak
and shaky. I needed a cane to get around and they wanted me to do what? Even at
the grocery store where it looked huge and I knew there was no way I could walk
around it, I had to resort to the drivable carts. At least my husband
accompanied me to show me how to work it and help me get things off the
shelves. Otherwise you’re sunk. So the day I got home I had to get on the phone
and fight with the insurance company, and fight I did, call after call. Finally,
they agreed and scheduled a nurse to come out twice a day to set up the drip
bag and insert the needle. Whew!
I returned to work the next
week. They’d been very understanding and it felt good to be back and feeling
relatively healthy. My hair was no more but I had two wigs so put them to good
use exchanging them according to my mood. One was short, curly and my natural
color, the other longer and a sassy dark red. The beauty of it was I could take
my hair off at night, place it on the wig stand and put every hair in place for
the next day—and no bed head in the morning! There was one minor problem. I had
no hair so there was nothing to attach the wig to and it would have looked
strange to tie it on so I found myself at the mercy of the elements—and other
things.
The first hapless incident
happened as I drove home from work one evening. A guy in a pickup rear- ended
four of us. It delivered quite a jolt even though I was at the front of the
pack. All the drivers got out to survey the damage—except for the woman in the
small car looking like an accordion. She left in an ambulance but the EMTs said she
wasn’t injured too badly.
I stood in the median
talking to the guy who drove the car behind me. We chatted for a while about
careless drivers until I caught a reflection of myself in my car window. I was
bald! My wig! Where was my wig?! I dove into my car feeling so embarrassed and
so puzzled. I looked all over the car and outside it, too. I got up on my knees
in the driver’s seat and looked in the back seat and there it sat. The jolt had
thrown it onto the floor in the back right behind my seat. I grabbed it, dusted
it off and jammed it on my head. Even using the car mirror I felt unsure that
it was on straight but it would do. I still had to talk to the police officer.
Another time we visited
friends in Casper, Wyoming, which is notorious for blowing wind. The minute you
cross from Colorado into Wyoming the wind blows fiercely. After church on
Sunday we stopped at a restaurant for lunch with our friends. The minute I got
out of the car my wig went flying across the parking lot with my husband, bless
his heart, in fast pursuit. My husband did recover the wig after it pin wheeled
across the lot. I didn’t stand around to watch. I dove into the car and covered
my head with a scarf. When I got the wig back I dusted it off, jammed it on my head
and hoped it was straight.
Did I tell you I am vain? I know, some women are much
braver and maybe put on a cap or a scarf or even nothing at all and manage
quite nicely. I, on the other hand, feel exposed, ugly and desperate for a
covering. I wished for some way to attach the wig to my head but glue was out
of the question so I tried to be careful and conscious at all times of the
precarious wig on my head since that’s where I wanted to keep it.
Thus ends my Wig Tales. I’m
sure there were other times besides these two but they’ve, thankfully, slipped
out of my memory bank into oblivion.
Next, I take a trip to
Africa—with my own hair! But did the chemo get rid of my problem?
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