There we are in the wig salon. Faina's new wig is about to be pulled from the box, a prepare to a feast your eyes moment. At this moment, those windows to Faina's soul go into a dizzying swirl and she enters a state of breathless shock. Imagine expecting to see short chestnut hair, a Ginnifer Goodwin-Mila Jovovich look and getting more of a Shaun White (the Flying Tomato) appearance. With friends coming from far and wide to celebrate the new year, this tomato was not going to fly. Faina maintains a quiet cool while conveying a sense of hysteria, impending disaster, and the potential for mutual assured destruction. She has the codes and a finger on the red button. Pretty soon the 10 X 10 foot room is filled with activity. Can we find a wig to get through the weekend? How did this order go so wrong? Can we get the right one here in 24 hours? We leave the CMCRC with overnight shipping for the correct color (not 130/8, but 30/8, "Oops"), a 10:30 am delivery set, and a 1:00 pm appointment on the calendar.
It has now been a little over a week since the last dose of chemo. Faina doesn't have to poisoned feeling she usually has, but she still has the tingling in the finger tips and is still not feeling comfortable. The meds are minimally helpful. She has been somewhat sleepless the last few nights, but she "keeps on keepin' on." She is gamely sampling a variety of foods (lox, chicken, pelimeni, white roughy, soft boiled eggs).
We also observed a traditional Jewish interpretation of Christmas catching a film (Black Swan - give Natalie Portman an Oscar!) and supper at P.F. Chang's. This being Columbia, the dining population pretty much represented the Fertile Crescent (and a little further eastward). On Monday, we all went out for lunch to celebrate Margo's 22nd birthday anniversary. In the spirit of George Orwell, every day is a day to celebrate, some days are just more celebratory than others.
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