This hair thing is making me crazy. I can’t believe it’s this annoying, but there you go.

I feel like the more hair I have, the weirder I look, but it’s almost like I just keep going to see what it’s going to do the next day, because it couldn’t possibly get any weirder. But then, it always does, so there you go.

My hair doesn’t lie flat, like normal hair. I don’t have to do things to it to make it have volume. It wants to stand up straight. At this point, I’ve got nine months of growth, so it’s about five inches long at the longest point (I know, my hair grows ridiculously slowly), and I can make it stand up straight and stay there without help from any product. Seriously. All I have to do is run my fingers through it in an upward motion, and there it is. My long spiky hair, in all its glory.

But I don’t want that.

I want commercial hair that is flowy and looks like shiny sparkly normal hair.

I want hair that doesn’t break off when it gets more than a couple of inches long, and hair that isn’t flaky all of the time because of the lovely psoriasis patch I have on my head. (Yeah, overshare, I know, but it’s in the interest of science. Or not. Shut up.)

I’m sick of people asking me when I’m going to grow my hair out. It’s been nine months. Some people can grow a whole baby in this amount of time. I have survived hundreds of bad hair days and grown about four inches of hair (I’m guessing it was maybe an inch or so when I started, but I didn’t measure, so this isn’t exactly a scientific study. But it should be.).

A whole baby versus four inches of hair.

Wow.

Well, at least my hair doesn’t have diaper changes, midnight feedings, and it doesn’t barf on my best shirts. That’s a plus.

I’m seriously considering chopping it off. My brain knows that it’s not going to get any better. Damn it. Maybe a hat. Headbands don’t fit my ginormous head very well.

Crap.

Hovering on the brink of puppy time. We actually sent in an application to a breeder, because we found and fell in love with a pup.

And then we talked about logistics and realized that the only way we could do it is if we had some pretty significant help during the beginning crazy puppy/potty training/chewing up all of the things time, because I do have to go into the office sometimes, which is far enough away from home that I’d have to crate the puppy at someone else’s house, in the town where I work. And the obvious person has his hands full already.

Which is pretty much the same as buying somebody a puppy without asking if they want one.

Which means it’s not a good plan.

Sigh.

So instead, we bought a chocolate cake and had a big piece and then put the rest in the freezer for the next time life forces us to make an adult decision when all we really want is a puppy to play with and smooch.

Sigh, again.

Well, February has been interesting.

Mom is still going strong, despite being reminded frequently that she’s not supposed to be.

We’re still pushing hard to keep her motivated and believing in herself.

The phone calls from people who want to see her “one last time” are still pouring in. (P.S. People. Come on. It’s not helpful. How is she supposed to be hopeful when you aren’t? Doctors are wrong ALL THE TIME. Every day. Knock it off.)

This month’s motto, thus far? WE ARE NOT IN MOURNING. Stop it. For reals. She can be healthy. She can be well. She can have hope. This does not make us idiots, it means we are making educated opinions about our own situations, because we have a complete picture of all of the circumstances.

Also, though, that doesn’t mean it’s not the hardest thing any of us could’ve imagined. Seriously. This is like a marathon that never ends. We don’t need the weight of other people’s pessimism weighing us down right now. If all you’re going to do is make somebody cry, stay away. We don’t have time for that. Bring her flowers and encourage her on her journey. Don’t bring her your guilt about staying away when she needed you. That’s lame.

She’s been everyone’s supporter and cheerleader her whole life. Now it’s time to return the favor.

Ugh. Some people, though.

Feeling better today. Less pissy.

Yesterday was the family meeting with hospice to set up care for my Mom. And the phone was ringing off the hook and it was just too much. And it made me mad.

Today, though, we will move on and not let their narrow set of options affect us. As much. We will keep hoping, even though they aren’t encouraging.

And we will hit the eye cream, big time, because the bag situation is getting crazy.

Here’s a tip: Either be there, or don’t. Don’t act like you’re somebody’s best friend when you’ve let them down for the last couple of years. Don’t ignore them for two years of chemo, recovery, sickness, hospitalizations, more chemo, and more hours of bed rest than anyone should ever have to endure, and then pick up the phone when you hear through the grapevine that their doctor has given up on treating them.

It’s crap.

My mom has gradually lost touch with many friends over the last couple of years. She has a few wonderful people who call regularly and make an effort to come and cheer her up. It’s been hard for her to make plans because she gets sick sometimes at the last minute, and has to cancel, so I get that many of her friends just stopped trying after a little while. Other people have their own stuff. I get it.

But since the day of the horrible news, her phone has been ringing non-stop, and it’s mostly people who haven’t bothered to check in since we started this terrible journey in January 2016.

Don’t. It’s crap.

Don’t leave messages saying things like, “Hi, honey! Just checking in. I’ve been thinking about you!”

No, you haven’t. You heard that she got bad news and you want to hear it from the source. Or you feel guilty because you forgot her. But where have you been in the in-between? Did you ever once call and check on her when she was in the hospital with the weird fever and swollen legs and stuck in bed but feeling antsy and bored? Did you remember her that first birthday when she was on chemo and feeling horrible? Did you check in during the year we were watching and waiting to see what the chemo and the emobilizations would do, while we had that horrible cancer weighing our hearts down and making us all feel this horrible dread every single day with no relief?

No.

So don’t call now. She doesn’t have time for friends who only bothered with her when she was her pre-cancer, do anything for anyone who needs it, happy, sunshiny, self. Now, every day is a struggle to stay present and not be overwhelmed with the fear and the unknown. Every day is a big question mark while we wait to see how long her body can continue to fight off this terrible disease, while trying to minimize the damage her spirit has sustained.

She has so many people who love her and have stayed by her side through this time. She has put so much love out into the world, and the people who love her have made sure that she gets some of that back. She is safe. She is appreciated.

So, don’t. Just don’t.

Wow, it must be a record! I’ve blogged twice now this week.

Go, me.

It’s amazing how different I feel from ten days ago. It was already hard, but it’s gotten so much harder. (Go ahead, give me a, “That’s what she said.” I deserve it.)

I think we’re so conditioned to just accept what doctors say as gospel truth, and when they give up on us, we tend to give up on ourselves. So it’s hard to keep believing that something good could still happen.

I know good things have happened, by the way. We’ve been blessed with a wonderful family who like each other and get along really well most of the time, and we all have beautiful, safe homes and pets to make them happier and plenty of food and newish cars and all of that good stuff.

We have enough money to go to the doctor when we need to, and we have jobs with good co-workers and we live in towns that are pretty darn safe and friendly.

We all believe in God, in our own ways, and we all respect the differences in our beliefs and never fight about religion or politics (which in some families might be a minus, but we are big non-confrontationalists in our house so that’s all good for us).

So we have all of this good stuff, but the words that came out of that doctor’s mouth last week are ruining everything with their poopy pessimistic finality.

Or, I’m letting them ruin everything. Because I do believe in miracles. It’s just kind of tiring when they don’t happen when and how I want them to. I know it doesn’t mean that it won’t, and I know it doesn’t mean we won’t ever have happy times again. It just feels like we’ve been slogging through the darkness forever, and my heart hurts.

Ugh.

So I’m brightening everyone else’s day with my little ray of sunshine, hahahahahahaha. Also, every time you put, “That’s what she said.” on the internet anywhere, another unicorn is born, so there’s that.

Two. Two unicorns. My work here is done.