Halfway there!

So round 2 wrapped up last week on Monday with a follow-up white blood cell booster shot the next day.  Thursday was the first day in two weeks where I didn't have to go to the hospital to be poked or pricked for something.  Frankly, that's one of the best things of being on an off week, actually being able to do something for my lunch break.  Granted, I haven't done anything more exciting than flop down on the couch in my office and take a nap, but that sure beats blowing an hour to have my blood drawn.

Me in all my bald glory.

I think I am getting used to being bald.  It still surprises me when I reach up to brush something aside and don't find hair, but I have broken myself of trying to wash my hair in the shower and being worried about bedhead when I wake up from a nap.  I haven't shaved it since we first did it two weeks ago.  The hair is putting forth a valiant effort in trying to come back, but I suspect it would be pretty patchy.  The gray hairs grow the fastest.  Maybe tonight I will lather it up again and shave it clean. 

There is at least one upside, everyone tells me I look younger, much younger.  One of the chemo nurses said he had been staring at me and my bald head all day, trying to remember who I reminded him of.  He finally decided it was Ricky Schroder.  Now, that was a blast from the past.  I got that so often in middle school that my parents and I had this schtick down where I would hear a gaggle of girls following me in a mall pointing and whispering, "There's Ricky!" I would give my dad a signal and he'd say fairly loudly, "Come on Ricky" and one of the girls would normally faint from an overdose of teen estrogen or whatever causes such excitement.

Lord Google Image couldn't oblige me with any pictures of Ricky bald, so I did up my own with Paint (hands-down the best free program to come with a PC).  I leave it to you, dear reader, to pass judgment as to any resemblance.  Either way, I'll take it as a compliment.

Pick the real Ricky...