Catching up-- Part Three-- Hair

The hair is gone. I can't say that I'm completely bald, because I had my head shaved and there's still some stubble, but, for all intents and purposes, I'm bald.

Last time around, losing my hair was so traumatic that I let most of it fall out on its own. It wasn't until I had one little section about an inch wide before I let Mom cut off that last bit. Looking back, I realize just what a mess it was. My hair would come out in handfuls-- I didn't need a comb or a brush, just touching my head was enough to cause it to fall out. By the time it was fully gone, I was so sick I couldn't have cared less about being bald. This time around, I decided that I didn't want to deal with the mess. I would rather have more control over the whole process.

I bought a wig two weeks ago. Basically, it's the same hairstyle I've worn for years. It's a little longer and a little grayer (or blonder) because it's got streaks and the light color is sufficiently vague that it could be seen as either blonde or gray. It's also different in that the cut is a bit asymmetrical-- one side is slightly longer than the other. Until yesterday, it's just sat on the styrofoam head.

My head started itching on Tuesday and hair started coming out a few strands at a time on Tuesday. It wasn't enough to be really noticeable, but it was more than I normally see when I comb my hair. By Wednesday, it was starting to bother me and I made an appointment with my neighbor (who is also my hairdresser), but it wasn't until Friday. She teaches at a beauty school most days and generally only works in her basement salon on Saturdays. As a special favor, she let me come on Friday at 6 p.m.

Mom, Mari and Kathy (another neighbor) came to view the proceedings. Jen shaved it all off, but didn't want to use a razor to remove the stubble because she was afraid she might nick me-- and I can't afford an infection. My friend, Paula, who had breast cancer two years ago, said that she used an electric razor (like a man's razor) and shaved the stubble from her own head. In her experience, when the stubble falls out, it gets on your pillow and under your clothes and feels about like hay stubble-- it pokes at you and can be quite uncomfortable. I can see the rationale, but, for now, will live with the stubble.

When I got up from the chair, Mom popped up and said, "It's my turn"-- and she got her head shaved too. She has thin, fine hair that she finds hard to deal with. It's redeeming value is that, despite being 78 years old, she has only a strand or two of gray and has never needed to touch it up to retain its natural dark brown. Mari knew that Mom planned to shave her head too, but I don't even think Dad knew she was going to do it-- I certainly didn't. It was also an amazing show of support!

Mom didn't plan to buy a wig; she figured she would just wear hats. There was NO WAY I was going to let than happen-- so we went wig shopping for her yesterday. We found one that we both liked, but it was an interesting day at the shop. Between a cross-dressing man who bought 3 wigs for himself, another guy who was looking for a wig that looked like his natural hair so that he could grow his own long and then cover it up with the wig so that people (work, school, parents?) wouldn't be able to tell, and a lady who is being treated for a tumor and is about to lose her hair and the regular walk-ins, it was an educational (cultural?) experience.

What a day! By the time we were finished there, my energy level was totally shot. I hung on to finish the things on our list, but it was a hard push.

So, now both Mom and I are bald at home, but wear wigs or other cover-ups when we're out in public. I plan to post pictures, but we don't have pictures of us in our wigs yet. So keep looking. To be truthful, I'm not very attractive as a bald person; Mom looks much better than I do.

Superheroes cannot control what life throws at them, but they aren't afraid to take control of what they do with it. In my case, my hair was going whether I liked it or not. In both the past and my current circumstances, I chose how to respond. This time around I opted for control-- I decided that it was better to just shave my head and be done with it, rather than let it go piece by piece. It was a more dramatic choice, but I was ready to take control. Mom didn't have to shave her head, in her case, it was strictly by choice-- but the support was greatly appreciated, and she looks good in her wig.