Bad hair day no more

A person spending all of her time caring for a very ill loved one tends to neglect her appearance, until an innocent glance at a mirror produces shock and dismay. A recent encounter with my own reflection inspired me to call Jamison Shaw Hairdressers post haste for an appointment. Jamey stayed with Jimmy this afternoon for me to go, and the diligent efforts of Suzanne the stylist have rendered me presentable.

There was a young woman in the chair next to mine, who had brought her small dog with her. The dog, which looked much like my darling sorely-missed Andy, had on a sweater, and sat quietly in her mistress's lap, immobile but to give a shy tail-wag to passing patrons who cooed at her. I couldn't resist taking a surreptitious photo of the little pooch, with my trusty phone camera.

Jimmy has some good days, and some that aren't so good, and that's just the way it's going to be for a while. Yesterday he felt great, and today he has dragged around, washed-out and lethargic. He gets lab work done Tuesday, and something is probably out of kilter, like his hemoglobin or his potassium. That can be easily remedied. Or it could be the Melphalan; it has only been a little over three weeks since he had high dose chemotherapy, and time will cure that. He's doing fabulously, considering.