Sarah had her Central Broviac® Catheter removed yesterday. I would imagine that she dreams of having a bath or a shower in which she can cover ALL her body parts with water SIMULTANEOUSLY. The post-surgical instruction sheet from Primary Children’s prohibits her from riding her scooter, swinging, and playing on the monkey bars for a few days – so I imagine a pogo stick is RIGHT OUT. They wrote in “driving,” as well, because of her age, but the irony is she doesn’t drive yet and she would probably be very tempted to utilize a pogo stick if given the chance.
Only one more week and you can lounge in a five-hour bath until you are a veritable prune, Sarah!!!! And in the meantime, you don’t have to heparinize every day and have dressing changes with a “sterile field.” Huzzah! The heparinizing is part of “flushing the line,” which explains why Sarah has been peppered daily for the last six months or so with the question, “Did you FLUSH?” She’ll still have to have a few blood draws as part of the radiation and check-ups, but the overwhelming desire to change BACK the expression “Boob-Tube” to its original meaning as a television synonym won over.
I, in sympathy of her procedure, did my best to create a battle-field surgical setting (I skipped the general anesthetic) in order to “touch up my roots.” This entailed an intricate system of clean kitchen garbage bags held in place with masking tape (sorry, Dad, didn’t seem like the occasion for duct tape – though for you, I appreciate that EVERY situation demands duct tape). Then I had a double-bagged “red bag” garbage system set-up for any disposables covered in dye (I didn’t use a real “red biohazard bag,” though I do have some – they make lovely gift wrapping for over-sized gifts) – oh – and none of this refuse will have to be incinerated at a biohazard plant. Athletic tape, latex gloves, yards of plastic wrap and one of those salon capes (under which I wore painting clothes, just in case) were also integral parts of the process. And NO, I didn’t go nutty overboard and use the Sarah’s sterile surgical gloves. I did double glove, but that’s just good planning. I had asked all the necessary (probably daft) questions at the beauty supply place, and I was ready to go. I, naturally, chose the middle of the night during which to endeavor this solo project. I have done it ONCE already (without entirely horrific results). And I learned my lesson the first time about what to watch on TV while processing the colour – no sex shows (despite their scientific demeanor and merit) on TLC or any other “educational” channel. I chose Olympic hockey (Russia versus Kazakhstan).
Since I was attempting to “touch-up” my roots, I was somehow supposed to put the squid ink solution JUST on the root sections first. This defies all laws of physics, especially the rule of Brownian Motion:
The continuous random motion of solid microscopic particles when suspended in a fluid medium due to the consequence of ongoing bombardment by atoms and molecules.
Wait – perhaps this ADHERES to some rules of physics (such as the aforementioned one) and “The Uncertainty Principle.” Whatever the case, trying to saturate ONLY YOUR ROOTS is an absurd pursuit.
I had also decided that after my roots processed for half the time, I’d “comb it through” and then boost the rest of the colour.” My hockey strategy seemed to be working, and I did make it BEFORE the timer buzzed (leaving a minute or two to unwrap some of the strategically placed plastic wrap, add the rest of the dye, and STRUGGLE to comb it through. I sat down (on a protected service, naturally) to watch more hockey during the second processing stage. I was doing really well, but then one of the announcers said, “Ah, ‘stick between the legs’.” Then the other concurred, “Yes, ‘stick between the legs’; that’ll be a penalty” Followed by, I kid you not, “Let’s watch it in slow motion.” Next, during the slow-motion replay, “Ah – there it is – ‘STICK BETWEEN THE LEGS’ – it’s very clear.” This made me snort, guffaw and chortle like a junior-high-aged boy. They said, “STICK BETWEEN THE LEGS.” Snicker, ha ha HAAA! Please cut me a modicum of slack; it was the middle of the night, and what with the pungent chemicals and an excess of plastic wrap and athletic tape about the head and face…
ANYHOO, after I’d been diverted by the above-mentioned hockey penalty for a number of minutes, I had the good sense to go and CHECK the timer, and I caught it immediately after it buzzed. Here’s the dilemma; I’d attributed the exceedingly dark results I’d achieved with the original dye job to the excessive processing time. Alas, this was only part of the trouble. I now know that I am STUCK with a colour that was just too dark in the FIRST PLACE. It isn’t a midnight BLACK auburn, but it was not what I was trying to achieve. At least I am using a product “For the younger, hip, modern client.” I didn’t know. But, as a reminder to myself:
NOT 5.60 Intense Red Auburn