Toxic Cocktails - Act Two.

You read, you talk to survivors, you ask questions.

Chemotherapy has that effect on people. It definitely did us. You hear of horrific consequences, of hair loss, weight loss ... you know the drill. You've heard it, too, right?

What we weren't prepared for in the first chemo session was ... boredom. That's right. We sat through the chemo all day long, waiting. Intermittently checking the relentless dripping in the little round vial, we did our best to distract ourselves. Then suddenly, it was over.

The nurse unplugged the IV and wished us well.

We gathered our stuff and shuffled out in a sort of daze. Was it really that simple? We went home in the almost certain knowledge that the pleasant doldrum wasn't going to last.

Reminds me of the time I thought our son Will had swallowed a partial bottle of Tylenol when he was about four. Following poison control instructions, I gave him the Syrup of Ipecac chaser. He downed it with an appreciative smile and turned to leave the bathroom without a second thought, blissfully unaware the curtain was about to open on act two.

The curtain parted for us Saturday afternoon.

Laura went fishing in the morning, meeting my sister Beth on Merritt Island, while I went to enjoy a ride on my motorcycle. She came home in the early afternoon, low on energy, and was soon napping.

Now it's Tuesday. Laura was able to work a half day after missing the whole day yesterday.

Bouncing back? We can only hope.

A bold adventure. Allies required.

I didn't know how long the "Lose the Locks" party at the salon would last, but I knew I wouldn't have much time. My sister Beth was on her way into town with her son and I needed to be back to take Bobby into Gators while she joined Laura's support group at the salon.

I dropped Laura at the salon and drove casually toward Gators until I was out of sight. A few quick turns later and I parked in front of the barber.

As soon as she'd laid out her plans for the salon party, I'd formulated my secret plan to shave my head at the same time. She would come to Gators with her friends from the salon, feeling a bit conspicuous with her short hair, and I'd surprise her with my own. It was calculated to relieve some of her stress at looking so different.

Her hair had been long -- shoulder length at least -- since we were married more than three decades ago.

I was a little early for my appointment, but happily, Gina took me to a chair right away. It didn't take long, and as I looked in the mirror, I surprised myself. I could live with that, at least for awhile.

A quick swipe of my card, and I was on my way back.

Beth's double-take at the Gators parking lot made me smile, though the patrons inside didn't know me and didn't give me a second glance. I guessed I didn't look so freaky after all.

The conversation with Bobby about his week at middle school occupied us. Time dragged. We ordered appetizers and found other topics.

I was a little distracted. Every time the door opened, I was ready to see Laura and her entourage coming in from the salon. Time after time, I was disappointed. How long does it take to get a haircut?

Finally she appeared in the doorway, scanning. It was dark compared to outside and at least thirty feet from the door to where we sat, but soon she saw us and headed over. I was able to conceal my surprise under my baseball cap most of the way.

Her new cut was really good. The original idea was to shave her head, but she decided on short hair for the interim. It took a little adjustment since I'd never seen it on her before, but definitely made her look younger.

You can guess the rest. About ten feet away, her eyes widened. I took off the cap. Her jaw dropped.

Mission accomplished. A momentary diversion, at least.

Now we can share the future with something akin to a united perspective, though I don't kid myself about the difference between her hair loss and my shaved head. A guy can pretty easily convince himself he's rockin' that look, and now I notice guys with shaved heads everywhere. But of course it's different for women.

We'll cross that bridge when we get to it.

Her heart's not on her sleeve, but just under it.

Laura and I had no trouble at all finding the right room in the long quiet corridor of plain doors, thanks to tastefully understated signs.

Ambulatory Surgery.

I looked at Laura as we approached the door. She knew what was coming.

"You'd think they'd want people to hold still while they operate on them, not to have them walking around."

"Oh, I don't know. Doctors are often Type A personalities. They like challenges."

I opened the door and followed her in.

It was a pleasant enough waiting room with the requisite elements. There were the usual semi-comfortable chairs along the walls, the carefully spaced relatives and friends using their cell phones, novels, and knitting to do their best to distract themselves. This one was well designed, with some of the creature comforts of a living room. A large flatscreen flashed images and deep muted voices, and subliminal overtones of coffee mixed with quiet conversations.

Laura's procedure was to put in a funnel to her heart.

The toxins they will be feeding into her body by IV will need to go directly into the superior vena cava. Like the mouth of a funnel, the injection port itself is a 1.5 cm target that will reside directly under the skin on the inside of her right arm. From there, the tube from the port enters a major arm vein and travels all the way to where it empties outside her heart.

Other than starting late, the surgery went as expected, and besides a nice bruise and a little leakage and pain at the incision, we moved on to a spectacular "Lose the Locks" party.

Next: About Losing the Locks...