I remember that day very well. It seemed that I did not feel quite right as I walked toward the waiting room for the blood test that morning, and once I was forced to talk, I realized how displaced my senses were, for I could not even answer their routine inquiries of cordiality. "Take a seat, please; make a fist." The nurse tied a rubber strap tightly about my arm and began to search for a vein. "Where are you from?" she asked. "Lauren Isaac..." I stopped abruptly, looking up at her as embarrassment painted my face a brilliant hue of red. Thinking she'll try another question, perhaps an easier one, she asked, "What's your name, huh?" To which I replied, "Moline, Illinois." My head began to spin in confusion and I wondered if I was going mad. "I'm sorry... I don't know what's wrong with me today..." I said, my voice trailing off as the dizziness intensified. Nothing of this sort had ever happened to me. I was extremely relieved to exit the vicinity of the blood test, for I despised losing control of myself in front of others. Feeling like an idiotic fool, I wondered if the nurses thought I was new to the procedure, or scared, or squeamish... The remaining portion of the day went smoothly after eating breakfast. Mom and I went shopping after taking Dad to the airport. I got a new wig, a brush, and wig shampoo. A new wig. It took some persuading on the part of my mom, but I finally agreed to try on some new hairpieces. My wig was beginning to show signs of wear after constant daily use and, admittedly, it was looking rather tacky. Despite these facts I was reluctant to go through the nerve-wracking process again, especially since I was now completely hairless and found the idea of publicly displaying that trait in a department store utterly repulsive. We browsed through the maze of styrofoam heads and many-hued tresses until a sales lady approached us. I studied the floor intently while my mom explained the color and styles I wished to try. Immediately the lady produced several boxes housing clumps of curled hair which resembled dead animals, and motioned to the mirror. "Uh..." I stammered, trying to muster up my courage. "Could...I...try them on in a dressing room or... something? I take chemotherapy and I... don't have any hair..." The woman hardly flinched. "Sure, go right over to woman's apparel..." What a relief! Behind the curtained partition I shed my relic and, standing before the mirror, tried one wig after the other. "I swear, nobody has this much hair!" I exclaimed, frustrated. "Think of the milk you'd have to drink to grow hair like this!"