Here is my submission for today's Picture it & Write:
She stood and admired her freshly shaved head in the mirror; for a moment, she missed her thick and flowing auburn locks. For the umpteenth time she imagined the feel of the heavy brush strokes that massaged her scalp as she sat between her mother's knees night after night, listening to the verses from I Corinthians 11 about hair being a woman's crowning glory. She passed a shaky hand across her pate, wondering what mother would say now, were she still alive. In an instant, the room began to spin; she knew the room was painted a safe and generic creme--they had planned to sell before the economic downturn--but as she blinked in hopes of gaining her composure it swirled in bright purples and blues. She felt like she was falling, and at the last moment reached for the shower curtain, realizing the sensation was real. Her head struck the plush mat in front of the toilet with a thud and she was thankful it was there, thankful for the dull thud that could have been a sharp crack along the side of the tub or commode. She yelped and then began to laugh at her good fortune--nothing broken this time. She tried to sit up but found that her fall had spun her within the now-ripped shower curtain; the purple and blue haze had begun to subside, and she was also thankful for that. The doctor had warned her that chemo and radiation treatment could make for an interesting ride. She knew the hallucinations of color meant she was nearing the end of the worst part of after-treatment; the nausea and vomiting had been yesterday and today was filled with color. She chuckled again as she tore herself free from the damaged shower curtain and remembered how similar the experience was to her drinking and doping club days; yes, life could be so much worse.