Looking like Lex Luthor threw me for a loop.

Yes, that's a lot of alliteration in my title.

Until last month I was fairly confident I was not going to lose my hair. Even when my oncologist told me, point blank, "Oh yes. It's going. Get used to it," I thought somehow I would avoid it.

Yeah. I was wrong. It started falling out in drifts exactly two weeks after my first chemo treatment. I experimented with cutting it short but it was still making a fast retreat. So I had it shaved down to stubble. Then I noticed that I stuck to my pillow like velcro and I ended up waxing it off. Yes, seriously. Now my head is a giant white dome with a few odd pale sprouts. It was light brown before so I'm seriously hoping it doesn't come back in grey. That would be so uncool.

And how does this impact my writing? Well, The Love Laws should be out next month, so I'm happy to report that I am still working hard to bring Jamie and Kevin's story to light. They're a fun pair so I'm grateful to have them as a distraction.

As a person going through cancer treatment, however, being bald has had a huge impact. I'm okay with rocking the boy chest after my bilateral mastectomy. I even kind of like the freedom of being braless. Less laundry.

But walking around in the world marked as a sick person is really not agreeing with me. I'm turning into a bit of a hermit. This is good because I can write, but otherwise I dread being around people. The curious stares and sympathetic glances of strangers have a tendency to make me feel sorry for myself. Which I abhor.

So, if you're out and about and you see a woman wearing a hat indoors or one who is brave enough to go commando-head, please do not draw attention to her situation. If she's anything like me then she will promptly break out in snifffling tears and run away. Embarrassing for everyone.