Today is the first day that I am able to do this:
No, it's not great.
Yes, there are quite a few strands of hair loose.
But I am ridiculously happy.
I hated being bald. Hated it. I felt like everywhere I went, people were staring at me, wondering why I looked the way I did.
This is me, exactly one week before the first surgery. I liked my hair like that, at the time. But after the surgeries, once all of my hair was gone, I decided I was going to grow my hair out long again, as some sort of rebellion against what had happened. I know that sounds weird, but it made (makes?) sense to me.
Hair is probably a very superficial thing to be excited about for most people, but it doesn't feel superficial to me. To me, it's a sign of my survival. That I survived having my whole world flipped upside down for four months. That I survived six brain surgeries. That, simply, I am still alive. And I'm getting my life back.
And that, my friends, is a simple, beautiful thing to celebrate today.