I know my Cancerversaries seem endless, but I can't help myself from marking each occassion, so forgive. One year ago today was my eighth and last chemo treatment.

Can you even believe? Well, I can't. The progression of time is a funny thing isn't it? There's no way to say definitively whether this year flew by or dragged out. It did both.

The most visible part of this particular one year mark is, naturally, the hair. Oh the hair, the hair, the hair. I'm dying to do something about it, but haven't figured out how to get to NY and back before July, when I'm completely booked. Chances are that I'll get so fed up in the next week or so that I'll pop up to the city for a day or two, get the hair done and then jet back here. The only problem with doing that is that when I go up I feel guilty if I don't get to see all my good friends.

Anyway, whatever. Pictures are called for. Tomas and I had our photo shoot last week for my stylish South Florida magazine story TK. I did one ensemble with wig and one sans wig.

Since my camera broke, I've been slacking, but I know you're just dying to see my hair; that you can't even wait; that this is going to get you through your workday. Right? Well, this is what it's now looking like when it's straight. I don't mind it when it's straight, but remember that I live in the Tropics, so as soon as I step outside, I go from Sally Hershberger to Seth Rogen in two seconds flat.

Sally:


And this morning, Seth:


And one year ago, in the hospital with my posse:Note the wine bottles above. My rationale was that I was all fucked-up on drugs so my friends may as well join.



I believe that's the only time I ever wore those Zanotti shoes. Fucking uncomfortable, but when you're in a chemo bed it doesn't matter. (Another Neiman's Last Call find I couldn't resist.)
They served their purpose that day though, as Stacey said:

"As soon as I saw those shoes poking out of that bed I knew this was your room!"