Another note to self...

I'm finding that lately I'm making more and more mental notes to myself...what good it does, I do not know, but I make them. I envision my brain loaded down with bright yellow sticky notes and hand scribbled messages to myself. It's getting pretty crowded up there but this note is a major note...one I must find room to squeeze in somewhere! Are you ready for it, here it is...DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES GO TO A HAIR STYLIST YOU'VE NEVER BEEN TO BEFORE...NEVER...EVER...EVER. And ESPECIALLY not before a holiday! Let me tell you why I say this and what happened to me.

I was growing out a cute little pixie cut. My hair is very fine and slow growing. It took almost 8 months to get my hair to the "just below chin level" and it was starting to look kind of "mullet-y." It wasn't quite as bad as Carol Brady's (you remember the Brady Bunch don't you???) but it was close. Soooo I decided it was time to get that fixed and I got on the internet and searched for salons near me. I found one that looked well established and called them up.

When the receptionist answered the phone, I told her I needed a haircut. I told her I didn't know any of the stylists but I needed someone who was good with baby fine hair. She said she had just the person for me...her name was Jill. I asked if Jill had been cutting hair very long and the receptionist said, "oh yes, over 30 years!" Okay then...sounded like a winner, so I went to the salon. Hubby was off work and said he'd go with me. I told him he'd probably rather sit in the car than in the waiting room with all the other women, he said he'd be fine. What a good guy he is!

I checked in at the receptionist's desk and the shampoo girl came to get me. After I was shampooed, I was taken over to meet Jill. Jill was about my age but had salt and pepper hair. Her hair was in a neat pixie. (I always make it a point to check out how my potential stylist wears her hair. If her hair isn't neat and well groomed, then I don't trust her to do mine.) Jill passed the test.

Jill sat me in her chair and asked what I wanted. I told her I was in a dilemma. I was growing out this pixie cut and while I was pleased with the length of my hair now, I didn't want a mullet. She said you have two options, go back to a pixie or have a shorter than chin length blunt cut. Well....I have a very round face so I knew the blunt cut was definitely a no. Back to the pixie it was then.

Jill and I talked the entire time she was cutting my hair. I got to know a lot about her and she got to know a lot about me. When she was done, I felt like we were friends. My hair looked cute and I left the shop happy...but wait! There's more!

I liked my short "do" so much. When I got home, I played with it a lot. I put styling paste in it and spiked it up...it looked cool. I put gel in it and wore it in a wet look...that looked cool too. I rolled it and sprayed it with hairspray for a different look...it was nice. And then, I made a fatal mistake...I decided I wanted to get my hair highlighted so the beautiful white hairs (that I'd seen peeking out around the edges of my face) could just come on in and one day in the future, I'd be completely white headed. I called Jill and set up another appointment. I told her my plan and she said it was do-able.

Once again, I sat in Jill's chair. She asked what my goal was and I told her about letting my whitish/gray hairs come in naturally. She went to the back and mixed up some color and then came back and began to foil my hair. After she got the foils in, she sat me under the dryer for about 40 minutes and then I was shampooed. When she began to dry my hair, I noticed the foils looked very light instead of like the blondish ones I've had in the past, but I didn't say anything. She pulled out her curling iron and began to curl and style my hair and then covered me in a coat of hairspray. She worked on it about 15 minutes before she was pleased. Next, she asked if I liked it. All I could see was the front of my hair and it looked okay so I said yes.

On the way home from the salon, I asked my husband if it looked okay. I told him I didn't even get to see the back. (Usually the stylist will give you a big hand held mirror while you're in the chair so you can see the back of your hair before you leave....but Jill didn't. I began to wonder why.)

When I got home, I went into the bathroom and began to comb through my hair. I didn't like it all poofy like Jill had styled it. I combed all the hairspray out and then got my mirror to look at the back. Let me tell you, I was NOT pleased when I saw it. I had patchy spots of white all throughout the back of my hair. I looked like a leopard! It looked really bad. I began to cry and then...I got MAD. I had just paid this woman $75 to do my hair and I'd also given her a $25 tip! Jill might have been a good hair stylist but coloring/foiling/highlighting hair was NOT HER FORTE'. Now what was I going to do...Easter Sunday is coming! I have to get this fixed and now. I was having a really bad hair day...

So I went to Sally (no, not another hair stylist, but you're close! It's a beauty supply store.) I knew I had to recolor my hair to get rid of the patchy white spots but how was I going to cover up those big white spots and the highlights she'd done all over the top of my head? I knew I could add color but, the highlights had been done by bleaching out my natural color. I also knew (from working in a salon years ago) that if you weren't careful, when you colored over bleached hair, you could end up with GREEN in the places that had been highlighted. I didn't want GREEN hair and I didn't want LEOPARD spotted hair...what to do. So, I jumped on my smartphone and GOOGLED it. I found out that if I put a Neutral Protein Filler on first, it would prepare those highlighted spots to take on the new color. Woohoo. Now I was on to something.

I bought $17 worth of supplies at Sally and headed home. I worked most of the day preparing food for Easter and my hair color supplies sat there on the counter in plain view. I had to do first things first and since we'd been invited to an Easter dinner with one of my children, I needed to get my dishes prepared and ready. I whipped up my famous Broccoli salad and then my "to die for" hashbrown casserole. Next I boiled some eggs...you gotta have deviled eggs on Easter, right? So, I had a cool idea, I'll boil the eggs, then peel them and then dip the shelled eggs into the food coloring...that way, we won't just have the pretty outsides of the eggs that usually is peeled off and thrown away but we'd have colored edible eggs that were filled with my deviled concoction. Pretty nifty, I thought. So, I gathered some little cups and put a different color of dye into each one. I had orange, yellow, blue, green and pink. The colors were so beautiful and I enjoyed sliding each boiled egg into the color baths. After getting the eggs completed. I was tired, but I still needed to address the hair problem.

I gathered my things and told hubby I'd see him in a bit. I went into the bathroom and began by putting the neutral protein filler on my hair. It had to sit for 20 minutes and then, I could start with the coloring process. When the timer rang, I started to mix up my hair color. I gently poured 2 ounces of 20 volume developer into the color mixing bowl and then added 1 ounce of my hair color. (I'd chosen a darker shade than normal and one without reddish tones because I didn't know how it was going to react to the highlighted areas.) I began applying the hair color and as soon as I got my entire head covered with color, I began to freak out!!! My hair started to turn PINK!!! I am NOT KIDDING HERE! It was not a beautiful pink shade like the Easter eggs color bath, but a definite PINK...a deep, rosy PINK! Oh my word! What had I done now! There was nothing I could do. All I could think was, well...if I have pink hair at least I could advertise for breast cancer awareness, but I didn't want PINK hair. So, I decided to wait and see what happened if I left the color on for a while longer.

After 30 minutes, my scalp began to burn! I guess the protein filler and the developer had done a number on my head. I tried to let it stay on the full 45 minutes as recommended but there was no way I could leave it on any longer. I looked in the mirror. Thankfully, the rosy pink hue had vanished and now, my hair was a deep, dark brownish black. At least it wasn't LEOPARD SPOTTED AND AT LEAST IT WASN'T GREEN OR PINK!

I showered and washed the remaining hair dye out. When I finished drying my hair, I was pleasantly surprised. The highlights were gone! The spots were gone! The pink was gone! All that was left was a nice, rich, deep brown color. I could breath a sigh of relief!

So the moral of the story...a $117 dollar story...be sure you have a qualified hair stylist before deciding to color. Always ask for a mirror so you can check out your head before leaving the shop. If you're not happy, you have two choices...go back in and demand the problem be corrected or opt for a do it yourself fix. If you go the do it yourself route, you better know what you're doing otherwise you may end up with pink or green hair or even NO HAIR at all!

Why didn't I go back in and demand my hair be corrected???
1. The shop was closed by the time I found out there was a problem.
2. Jill wasn't working the next day.
3. I had to fix it before Easter! I couldn't go to church with spotty hair and I didn't have a wig!
4. I was angry and wanted the problem fixed immediately so I chanced doing it myself.

The end results

I'm so thankful it turned out okay. It could have been even worse than the beginning. I could have ended up with PINK LEOPARD SPOTTED HAIR!

This is a true story and believe me when I say, this note to self will remain on the very front lobe of my brain for years to come! Maybe one day my kids and grandkids will laugh about all my zany life stories. I hope someone will laugh...it is kinda funny now that I think about it.

When it comes time for lunch tomorrow, I think I'll forego having any of those colored deviled eggs. I'm a little scared of the green and pink ones...and Jill will never know that I didn't love her highlighting job unless we bump into her at church, afterall, she does attend the same church we do!

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

I am not a has been

"I am not a has-been. I am a will be." - Lauren Bacall

A well meaning friend sent me a picture of a pink Christmas tree yesterday. She said, "I thought of you when I saw this." I was dumbfounded. Why does everyone seem to think just because I have breast cancer that suddenly I'm enamored with the color pink?

When I was growing up, I hated pink. I was a tomboy. I wore jeans and tennis shoes. I loved playing war with my brother. Deep in the woods we'd trek until we had climbed over tree branches, creeks, hills, and barbed wire. I loved hearing the leaves crunching under my feet and didn't mind twigs tangled in my hair or "hitch hikers" attaching to my pants legs. The girls at school would have cringed if they had known my secret...that I hated wearing dresses and I would rather be playing football in the mud with the neighborhood guys instead of having a tea party. Pink was just not my color. Pink gave me no pleasure.  Even now, at almost 57, I consider myself a tomboy. I hate wearing dresses.

But tomboys can still be tenderhearted. Yesterday, I went to the grocery store. I chose to go to Kroger because it was Wednesday, and Wednesday was senior citizen's day and seniors get a 10% discount. The first time I had ever received a senior discount, I had to ask for it. The woman behind the counter didn't believe I was over 55. I had to show her my driver's license. She said,  "you don't look your age." I was flattered. I've always prided myself on looking young. But yesterday, the cashier did not give me the discount. When I confronted her about it, she said, "we only give the discount to seniors 60 and up." I told her I'd always received the discount in Dekalb County Kroger stores and had been told the policy was 55 and up. I asked to speak to the manager. The manager was adamant about their 60 and up policy. As I left the store, I cried. Rivers of black mascara cascaded down my cheeks. Why was I so upset? Was it because of the rejection I'd just faced at the store or was it something deeper?

When I got home, it took thirty minutes to bring the groceries in and get them all put away. I was so frustrated at not being strong enough to carry more than one or two bags at a time. On the kitchen counter, my bottle of Arimidex, the antihormone therapy, sat reminding me that in just a few more days, I'll face a whole new set of challenges. Challenges of bone pain, fatigue, hair loss, mood changes....

Walking into my bedroom, I glanced down at my dresser. There on the dresser top lay several breast cancer bracelets I'd received in the mail from friends. More pink! I hadn't bothered to put them on, I hated pink. I stripped off my Lymphedema sleeves and changed into a flannel shirt. At least at home, I could be comfortable and be my true self.

I made a bowl of soup and sat down at the table to eat lunch. In front of me, I had a stack of magazines. I began flipping through the top one and almost every other page had something pink on it! Pink ribbons were everywhere. I closed the magazine and sat silently for a few minutes. I realized why I'd had the meltdown in the Kroger parking lot. It wasn't that I didn't receive my senior discount, it was about my feeling helpless to control all the changes that have and are taking place in my life. Those pink ribbons are constant reminders that I'm not who I once was...that I am someone different.

Walking into the bathroom, I looked at myself in the mirror. "Who are you?" I thought to myself. On first glance, I see myself as a mid forties woman with a fresh coat of makeup, fairly attractive, looking healthy and fit. But then, as I take a second look...I see a facade. I see a wrinkled woman who's learned the fine art of camouflage. I see fading hair color revealing various shades of gray. I see a woman with no feminine form. I see a deep sadness and pain. I force myself to look for a few minutes longer and then it is too much and I turn away. "I hate pink," I say to myself.

The holidays are coming. In just a few weeks it will be Thanksgiving. Normally, I would prepare a huge feast and have all the children and grandchildren over for dinner. This year, I'm too tired to do it. Two of my daughters have agreed to pick up the slack. They are going to take care of all the details. They'll come to my house and prepare the food. We'll celebrate being together. We'll celebrate being alive and my heart will be overcome with God's goodness. Usually, after the meal is finished, we set up the Christmas tree. It's usually a time filled with fun and joy. This year, I'm just not feeling it. I have no desire to put up the tree...no desire to buy gifts...no desire at all. I want to slap myself silly and say, "what's the matter with you!" I know I have so much to be thankful for and I should be overjoyed to celebrate the holidays but something inside has changed. It hurts me to realize I'm not the same as I used to be...I'm different. I wonder if the kids can see it. I hope they don't. I don't want to upset them.

I know I'm suffering from depression and that really scares me. It's not like me to feel down in the dumps and so alone. As I face this reality, I also realize that even when I don't quite recognize the face staring back at me in the mirror, God does. He doesn't look at my outsides but my insides. He looks on my heart. He knows the trauma I've faced this year. He knows what it's done to my self esteem. He knows I'm struggling and still, He loves me. This grown up old tomboy with wrinkled face and graying hair...this old woman with no breasts, He still loves. Now it's up to me to learn to love myself again...to realize I'm not a "has been" but a "will be." Maybe a good romp in the woods would help jog my memory a little bit.

Breast cancer awareness is symbolized by the color pink and that's okay if it causes women to check their breasts but if you know someone with breast cancer, be sensitive to the fact that the color pink may not be their "new" favorite color. Some women with breast cancer want to surround themselves with pink everything but many do not. It's hard to be constantly reminded of what was instead of what is now. Each of us have to process things in our own way and for me, pink is a constant symbol of the fact that my life is no longer the same. So no, this year, I won't be putting up a pink Christmas tree and I won't be donning my green tree with pink ribbons. In fact, I may not put up a tree at all. Perhaps I'll just take a walk in the woods, where nothing is pink, and enjoy the beauty of nature. That sounds like a tomboy's dream to me, and if I get the urge, I may just climb up in the tree and sit there for a while just thinking of the me that is still to come...the me that will be.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved