Chapped lips

If you're not interested in gory, intimate body details, then stop reading.

The canary tuft of dark hair on my knee is hanging on.

But apparently I picked one tough canary, because the miners up on my scalp are falling fast. It's like watching the gentle start of an incoming snow storm.

I made a small sclupture out of the hair that has fallen on the desk, here, in front of my computer. The hair is rather sticky and naturally wants to weave together, so you can mold it into different forms.

I'll have Ilona shave my head tomorrow, after Delphine's class party. No need to shock the poor girl in front of her classmates.

I did a bit of shaving myself tonight. See, those mucuous membranes that get damaged by chemo? They are causing my mouth and lips to be quite dry. I'm suddenly in need of chapstick every five minutes. The reflux now hits the back of my throat a bit if I eat something too spicy.

The medical staff at the cancer center warned me about that.

But what they didn't warn me about?

Chapped lips.

And I'm not talking about the lips on my face.

I'm not sure if it's because of the chemo, steriods, or instant menopause, but the environment has changed dramatically down south and, well, things are...hmmm...SLICKER.

But chapped in spots.

And that's, uh, not very comfortable.

So when I saw the snow was falling a bit down there as well, I decided it was time to take action.

I do have to admit there's a bit of the mole rat look going on already. There's an eerie erasure of my sexuality. My sexual markers are so blurred out and vague I could be approved by Mattel as a children's toy.

But it's a bit exciting too. This is my final metamorphosis. I'm taking the form of she who will march this thing through to the end.

p.s. My white cell and red cell blood counts were normal yesterday. My platelets were low. So, I'm not anemic or at risk for infection!