I have never liked my hair. It is baby-fine but there is so much of it. It's not curly but it's not straight; it's sort of kinky/wavy/frizzy unless I coerce it in a certain direction. It's not blonde but it's not a nice, rich, warm brown either. It's mousy and delicate and I have actively disliked it for a very long time. I have had long hair and short hair and somewhere-in-between hair but I have never had hair that I loved. 

Friday was my first day at the BC Cancer Agency. I walked down the long corridor, past Clinic A and Clinic B, to my waiting room at Clinic C. I walked past head scarves and wigs and bald heads; I did not see the people, I just processed the state of their heads. All I saw was *CANCER* in flashing neon lights.

And I felt like a capital-D Dickhead. 

My cancer is not a type treated with chemo. I will not lose my hair. (Well, I've lost some hair due to hormone wackiness but I am not going to lose all my hair.) I have been so royally pissed off at everyone who has called my cancer the "good" cancer. I have ranted and cried and called people stupid and insensitive because they called my cancer the "best" cancer. I have felt self-conscious because people stared at my scar. I have felt unattractive and embarrassed because cancer makes me sweaty. I have felt like I had a flashing neon *CANCER* light hanging over my head. I have been so silly.

Now, I'm not saying that I don't have a right to my feelings. I'm not saying my feelings are silly. I'm just saying that walking down the corridor of the BC Cancer Agency provided a huge dose of perspective (one for which I am extremely grateful.) Cancer sucks. My scar is ugly. I am frequently sweaty and yeah, sometimes smelly. It is not fun. It is not "good" or "the best." But it's not the worst either. And I needed to see that with my own eyes so that I can choose to love my stupid hair and be grateful for my stupid cancer instead of being force-fed gratitude.