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A preemptive strike

I met the oncologist yesterday and got the news. Not very good, not catastrophic. I'm now headed for some serious chemotherapy with all the risks, sickness and hope that it holds.

So today I cut off most of my hair, shaved off my beard as a preemptive strike to take charge of this monster and, man, do I look different. I left the moustache, figuring the chemo would have to peel that off along with the remaining tufts up top. I did it on a whim to what's going on.

No one in the house knew about it until they got home. The kids have never seen me without a beard. The response was kind enough. A lot of 'Grampy you sure look different.' But no complaints. Doc didn't say a word.

It also opened the door to talk about what is coming next. Both Tio and Kit listened without many questions but there will be time for that. When we discussed it weeks ago it was still an if, now it's definite. I hear more curiosity than fear in their voices and I hope that in the end they have nothing to fear. I will talk with Doc on an 'as needs' basis rather than fill him full of potentially frightening images.

Friends have generously offered their help, Buddy and Sugar are pitching in, I've been reading the pamphlets on what to expect, and we're all ready to put our backs to this stone. I am blessed to have such a strong family and good friends.

I guess I'm as ready to face this disaster as I ever will be. So bring it on.