My pal Aloe and I went to the big city to buy MJE a wig earlier this week. The local cancer center had recommended some joint that is geared toward the “special needs” of chemo patients. It’s called “Aftercare Essentials” a head scratching (literally) name that doesn’t give a consumer who’s not in the know the vaguest indication of what it sells. What it should be called is “A Place for Sick and Downtrodden Chemo Patients to get even more Depressed.”
AE stocks every sort of prosthesis and undergarment known to woman as well as make up bags, canes, creams and lotions, bibles, journals and a series of books called “Uplift” which might not be the most comforting title for mastectomy patients. Almost every item is pepto bismol pink, just in case you might however briefly forget that you are a cancer patient. Is it not enough to have a bald pate, does MJE really need a tee shirt with a huge pink ribbon embroidered on it to broadcast her membership in the breast cancer sisterhood. It felt like I had inadvertently pledged a lousy sorority after a rough night.
Anywho, “Kay” is the owner and the one who was to give MJE the rundown on wigs: types, hand knotted vs machine knotted weaves, synthetic vs human hair vs blends, etc.. She issued an interesting caution: do not to stand over a hot stove or open an oven door whilst wearing a synthetic hair wig because it will melt. A pretty drastic way to get out of K-P duty but at least there’s some upside to this miserable mess.
She ushered us into a small room and proceeded to tell us about her own hair loss experiences, all five of them. Yo Kay! Verbalizing that there is a distinct possibility that cancers may recur is most definitely not what a client wants to hear. I think MJE speaks for most cancer patients when she says that she really, really wants to be a one hit wonder. So zip it Kay; fetch me a goddam wig and let me get the hell out of this dreadful place.
She finally allowed us to inspect her inventory, which ranged from elaborate backswept Charlie’s Angels bouffants to tightly curled church lady coifs to straggly granny mullets. Aloe and I finally settled on the least offensive and what I am sure was probably the most expensive of the pelts. A bobish thing that will require having a wig hairdresser cut it to my face, a somewhat unsettling thought because if she screws up, it’s not like it’s gonna grow back.
MJE picks up the rug next week, and despite best efforts will probably end up looking just like that crazy lady down the street who has 47 cats.