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Cream of the Cool

An after-affect of chemotherapy, occurring when hair grows back.


"I look like i have a lambskin on my head!"
grundoon, when her hair began growing back.


Christine had started chemotherapy some time before we were married back in May 2005. Her hair really began to fall out noticeably the day we were married. She said she looked like a mangy dog; I disagreed, she looked perfectly

Hold on. We'll get to abuse of copyright shortly.

My brother, now retired or, rather, retiring (it's the nature of his job that his retirement must transpire in a series of premeditated chess moves), has moved to a small town a half-hour away. In the early nineties I dated a woman who lived there. She dwelled across from the town's small park. I visited often and drove back late, listening to Anik satellite broadcasts. The places I remember are

Nine years ago, after an autumn of odd symptoms, I had a CT scan and then an MRI and then a brain biopsy. A week later, when the surgeon removed the staples from my head, he told me I had glioblastoma. The biopsy did not contain any cancerous cells, and yet I was told I had cancer and referred to a neurosurgeon and a neuro-oncologist at a nearby teaching hospital.

 

 

 

In the spring of 2015 we got a puppy. She was a year old, a mix of black pug and

I was going to add some rules to this. A laundry list. Add in some of my own secret sauce, now that I have reached the ripe old age of 45. I had a few tips, mostly having to do with walking. I walk a lot. But after I thought about it, I wanted to share one rule I am pretty sure of, even if 45 isn't that old. And see, this rule isn't one weird trick or a protip or even a sage piece of wisdom. This is more of a rule like the law of gravity. This rule is going to follow you and be true no