Last night, while looking at photos from Sophia’s birth, Jacqui finally admitted to me how freaky and frightening I looked at the end of the last B-cycle. With barely any red blood cells and hemoglobin, down a few pounds, and exhausted and beat up from chemo, I knew I looked like Jeff Goldblum mid-transformation in The Fly.
Witness exhibit A:
I looked like a freak. Bald. Skinny. Pale. My nose looking bigger than ever. But my wife, who obviously loves me even in my Frankenstein stage, kept insisting that I looked OK. And so did many of you. Wow, denial is one powerful coping tool.
I beg you all, if the chemo should again transform me into a circus freak, PLEASE DO NOT tell me I look good. If I look like crap, it is part of the process. Chemo is not a day at the spa, and looking like shit is the norm. May I suggest the following approach: “Mike, holy crap do you look bad! Clearly the chemo is working!”
And now for a bonus shot of me reading to little Sophia.
Bald Mike's Blog 
so ya might not look your best at those times but that photo is particularly bad. you did not look like that. and stop talking about your nose. someone we know did a job on you re nose. get over it. from your mom who does not lie. well, maybe once.
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