Well, that's not fair

We literally took the vacuum cleaner to my head last night.  The hair is going fast, and it's itchy. As soon as I find my camera I'll put up a picture of my nearly-bald head. The blue mohawk lasted exactly one day, which was enough to puzzle the ladies at Blob's Park, the German dance hall where we went polka-ing on Friday night.  But the mohawk was unraveling, and hair was falling out in clumps, so I had John buzz it off on Saturday morning.  Now, there's nothing between me and baldness but a little fuzz, and an excellent new cowboy hat.

I bought it this week, in Laurel, of all places.  I was trying to channel the ghost of a hat that my dear friend, Dave, gave me when I moved to England some 27 years ago.  That hat continually amazed and impressed my British friends. It got got me kissed on more than one New Year's Eve. Eventually someone stole it from a storage locker while I was moving.  That was a sad day.  But this new hat has potential.  Why did I wait 27 years before I bought a new cowboy hat?  My new motto is:  Do it now.  Someday is today.

I am still feeling great!  I did three miles on an elliptical machine at the gym today, along with my weights.  I am very happy to report that the fuzzy-headedness from the first chemo treatment lasted less than a week.  I did not have any trouble remembering how to walk on a treadmill today, as I did those first few days. And my sense of taste, which nearly disappeared there for a while, is back, for now, at least. I dominated in our duckpin bowling on Friday. I commented to my friend, Lalitha, who is a medical doctor, that they'll need to put an asterisk next to my name in the duckpin books, because I owe it all to the steroids.

She burst my bubble.

"Oh, no, you're taking the other kind of steroids," she said.

What?  I had thought I was taking Barry-Bonds type steroids, only more badass.  But it turns out, that although I'm taking badass steroids, they're a different kind.  He takes performance-enhancing, anabolic steroids.  I'm taking non-performance-enhancing, corticosteroids.

"So I'm not going to get ripped?  Become fierce at bowling and softball and such?"

"No," she says, adding that I might become psychotic, though. Then she tries to cheer me up by pointing out this means my unusually good bowling performance was not chemically induced.  It was all me.

When my own doctor first mentioned the steroids, he said they would be one of the things that could  mess up my stomach.  One of many. He painted a sort of grim picture about how my stomach was going to feel during chemotherapy in general, which lasts until some time in July.

I tried to see the bright side.  I said, "Well, if I don't feel like eating between now and July, at least I might lose the 20 pounds my regular doctor has been telling me to lose."

"What makes you think that?" he asks.

"Well, you just told me, I'm not going to feel like eating anything until some time in July. Surely, I'll lose some weight?"

"Oh, no," he says, surprised.  "We're going to pump you so full of steroids that you could gain 20 or 30 pounds if you're not careful.  You're really going to have to watch what you eat, and exercise a lot, get that metabolism going.  Go to the gym almost every day, or at least go for a long walk, or you'll just balloon."

I cursed at that point, which he seemed to enjoy.

Not only am I not going to get ripped, and I'm not going to become a power hitter. I'm going to feel sick until some time in July, but I'm still going to get fat? That's not fair.

None if it is, really.