"Lauren Isaac…" I stopped abruptly, looking up at her as embarrassment painted my face a brilliant hue of red.
Thinking she'll try another question, perhaps an easier one, she asked, "What's your name, huh?" To which I replied, "Moline, Illinois." My head began to spin in confusion and I wondered if I was going mad. "I'm sorry… I don't know what's wrong with me today…" I said, my voice trailing off as the dizziness intensified. Nothing of this sort had ever happened to me. I was extremely relieved to exit the vicinity of the blood test, for I despised losing control of myself in front of others. Feeling like an idiotic fool, I wondered if the nurses thought I was new to the procedure, or scared, or squeamish…
The remaining portion of the day went smoothly after eating breakfast.
Mom and I went shopping after taking Dad to the airport. I got a new wig, a brush, and wig shampoo.
A new wig. It took some persuading on the part of my mom, but I finally agreed to try on some new hairpieces. My wig was beginning to show signs of wear after constant daily use and, admittedly, it was looking rather tacky. Despite these facts I was reluctant to go through the nerve-wracking process again, especially since I was now completely hairless and found the idea of publicly displaying that trait in a department store utterly repulsive. We browsed through the maze of styrofoam heads and many-hued tresses until a sales lady approached us. I studied the floor intently while my mom explained the color and styles I wished to try. Immediately the lady produced several boxes housing clumps of curled hair which resembled dead animals, and motioned to the mirror. "Uh…" I stammered, trying to muster up my courage. "Could…I…try them on in a dressing room or… something? I take chemotherapy and I… don't have any hair…" The woman hardly flinched. "Sure, go right over to woman's apparel…"
What a relief! Behind the curtained partition I shed my relic and, standing before the mirror, tried one wig after the other. "I swear, nobody has this much hair!" I exclaimed, frustrated. "Think of the milk you'd have to drink to grow hair like this!"
I selected a wig which closely matched my old one in its younger days and vowed I would somehow smash it down to the proportion of real hair. Would you like to wear it?" Mom asked, referring to the new clump of hair slumped inanimately over the edge of the box. "No way," I plastered my tried and true wig on my head and it unhesitatingly fell into place, conforming to my head like an old felt hat.
The following afternoon my treatments began. However, we received a pleasant surprise by learning that we could transport the last two days worth of drugs home with us and allow the hospital to administer them to me. Thus, after the third treatment, we were given the expensive vials of yellow, clear and ruby red liquid, along with instructions for the doctor, and placed the potent ammunition in a cooler.
May 29, 1976… Took Chemotherapy and headed for home. Got home around 3:00 or 4:00 p.m. (TWO relatives) were already here. (one) gave me a book on beauty… maybe she's trying to tell me something! HA! HA!
May 30, 1976… Had chemotherapy at home. It took a long time to get all of the things situated. It was injected, I threw up, etc., and then we went home.