Hermione, Hagrid and Harry Potter

I think my fall out is complete. I don't have anything left that can fall out, unless I start to spontaneously loose my teeth..... at this stage...nothing would surprise me.

However, for each day that passes, something falls out and something else reappears. The things that you once found annoying, you now herald their return as if they were your very own prodigal son.
Underarm hair, welcome back, I missed you - even though now you will be forever lopsided, one pit waxed, the other, never to be touched by bee poo or blade.
Bet you never knew that.
Bye bye lymphatic system post breast surgery, bye bye being able to shave my right pit.

Eyelashes, woo hoo, come and join the regeneration party. Please this time, when you grow back could you concede to being longer, darker, thicker and anti-clumping when mascara is applied.

Hair, I feel decidedly follicular, I can actually pinch the inch of hair that has grown on my crown. It would be an exaggeration to say that it is a mane of flowing locks, but in comparison to being bald, this is epic.

I've fretted and bit more lower lip over the last few weeks thinking and rethinking about going to a party. I'm most definitely still a midnight mary, needing to be in bed by twelve o clock by the latest and will pay for it the next day by needing at least ten to twelve hours sleep but from time to time it is possible to feel like a normal late-twenty-something and stay up past nine pm.

So yes, a party, a mass gathering of people. All the people who I haven't seen in almost a year, who have talked about me, gossiped about me, pitied me, some perhaps saying prayers for me, whatever floats your boat....a mass gathering, what better way to make a spectacular comeback, let them all have a good gawk at me, get the gossiping over with.

It is something that I would rather engulf myself in, as opposed to a steady drip drip of meetings, so, Saturday night and we are going to a party. My house mate agrees to come with me, I think she can sense the fear in my voice when I speak of it.

I pull every possible dress out of my closet and try them all one, disgarding all of them, try them all on again and finally settle on the least awful. It's tight, black and low cut.....ok, its not really that low cut but it is lowish. I stuff my fake boob in the pocket of my mastectomy bra...a relatively nice piece of underwear, raspberry in colour and I don black leggings, and the tight black excuse for a dress. I check in the mirror to make sure I'm not lopsided and get my housemate to pin me in. Tiny gold safety pins do the trick for all and any wardrobe malfunctions...mine potentially being my fake boob falling out.

I do the makeup, I don't even bother considering the hair, there is nothing to do with it.....it is unDo able. I apply the most outrageous coat of red nail varnish to the butts of my nails, and paint on red where I don't have any nails, to give a good illusion. Earrings next, I need to go through my entire collection, my favourite ones now look like ridiculous stirrups in my ears since my hair is no longer long, so I settle on something a little less  distracting. Then I carefully, every so carefully, apply an equally outrageous shade of red lipstick. My mouth looks like its on fire, it practically pops in the dark. I look like a bad ass punk rocker, turned semi-stripper.

I practice flipping my finger at my reflection in the mirror. I know this is not something that I am going to be able to do at the party, at the risk of offending everyone but my outfit and attitude seems to yell, 'Fuck You' to anyone with half a mind to listen.

I clean a smear of lipstick off my teeth, oppppssss, not great at applying but at least I caught that oversight before arriving at the party. And finally I climb into a pair of high, high heels. Apart from the look of Bambi fear in my eyes, who would know that I am only a couple of weeks post radiotherapy treatment.

In the car I am afraid I'm going to hurl my dinner. I take a minute to compose myself and then there really is no turning back. I plaster a confident smile on my face, yell a silent 'Show Time' and brace myself...........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................
ughhhhhhhh...this is worse than I thought. Everyone looks up, some people smile a watery smile, other look away, unsure of what to say, what to do, I chat to my friend and go to speak to the host. He gives me a quick kiss on the cheek and pays me no more attention, for which I am terribly grateful. One girl comes over and touches my arm, rubbing it gently up and down and saying, with a soft, meek expression, 'How are you feeling?' I want to punch her lights out.
Fine, I say, A bit hung over from last night, we went clubbing (categorical lie, but I don't care...Fuck You. Fuck You, Fuck You and your lovely long hair). I turn away and walk to the other side of the room smiling and nodding at people as I go. Ughhh, I want to go home, this is torture but I've only been here 3 minutes and 42 seconds. From the corner of my eye I can see two people turn in my direction, bend their heads together an whisper furiously. I go to get a drink and a friend of a friend of a friend sees me.

Oh Hi, he say.
Hey.
I haven't seen you in ages.
Hmmmm, I murmur.
Would barely have recognised you with your hair.  That's a bit of a drastic change. When did you get it cut?
I stare at him for a minute.
Oh my gosh, this guy is so out of the loop, obviously the rumour mill hadn't alerted him to the fact that I had cancer and my hair had fallen out.
Ummm, well, I was mourning the last of the Harry Potter books and decided, in homage to Hermione, my favourite character, that I would cut my hair like her. (minor detail, its like Emma Watson with a buzz cut and not Hermione but this guy didn't seem to register).
He smiled and nodded his head.
Cool, he says.

Ya...totally cool I think.

I make my way around the room, chatting to a few people, nodding at a few more. Some of them take a double take, unsure, a glazed look seems to pass over their features, then realisation, they know who I am, then double realisation, they know what I had, they look away.

After about a half an  hour people loose interest. Then I am gagging to go home. I'm so tired from smiling and making small talk, my bra is cutting off circulation and my feet are killing me...stupid heels.
At last the night is looking like it might be coming to an end and another guy comes over, smiles and rests his hand on my arm (what is it with all the arm touching!)
'I absolutely love your hair. You look GRRRRReeeeaatt!
Beaming, he turns and heads out into the night, reckoning that his good deed is done for the day.
I am sooo over this party right now. I get my stuff and hobble to the waiting taxi, take me home I croak at the driver, feeling more like Hagrid, except minus the hair than ever before.

Later, snuggled down in my bed I sigh a massive sigh of relief. That's it done then....my return. Phew. I wonder how harry potter handles all these pressing social engagements and image reinventions.

For me, right now, all I can engage with is the lovely sleepy feeling coming over me and my stilleto free pinkies snuggled warmly in my bed.....oh what a party animal I am.......