On July 7â€”an auspicious day in many culturesâ€”I went drug free in preparation of going on a new treatment within the next couple of months. To commemorate this next stage of my battle with this disease, I thought about getting a tattoo or piercing. And then I thought about how much needles and pain freak me out. A HELLA LOT. (Heck, I gave up watching medical shows years ago for the sole reason of seeing too many needles stuck in too many arms.) I considered the henna thing, which I did in Morocco, but that seemed too transient and too, well, girly. Skydiving entered my mind and then promptly left at approximately 32 ft per second. What to do? So today, my full head of hair went Army of One (but I left the beard). I told my adoring wife that I would look just like soccer superstar David Beckham â€¦ only without the six-pack abs, the shocking-handsomeness of a male model, the perfectly chiseled body, and the $45 million annual salary. Or Iâ€™d look like a cancer patient who was having difficulty walking. Bemused, my wife nodded and told me my stubby hair would eventually grow out. At which point she would allow me to, once again, share her bed. After the initial shock (thankfully, she never saw the Mohawk, but you sure can in the ActiveMSers website forum, http://activemsers.wssnoc.net/forumdisplay.php?f=2) she has accepted the lack of locs and has affectionately nicknamed me BP, short for Brillo Pad!