The Day It All Fell Out

This weekend was eventful for many reasons. The first thing I am going address is hair loss.

I not new to the hair loss thing. When I had breast cancer six years ago I was bald for five or six months. Hair grows back. At least usually (apparently, in 2% of cases with full brain radiation, people develop permanent alapatia).

But I did it differently last time. The last time I woke up one day and I saw a few hairs fall out -- and so I rushed to my hairdresser and I had her shave my head entirely, went out and got fake leather pants and had fun with it. Frankly, I don't remember it as being so traumatic. Maybe time plays tricks on the memory.

So, as people who read this blog know -- I kicked this hair loss off with a hair-shearing party. I originally intended to shave my head again, but then for various reasons, decided to just cut it really short and wait for the hair to fall out. I figured it wouldn't be so traumatic with short hair falling out rather than my previously long locks. And I am sure this was actually true.

This is how it actually unfolded (of course accompanied by photos). I had a terrific two week run with hair -- constantly expecting it start going but surprised each day that it was still stuck to my head. The radiation technician told me that it would all kind of go at once but I didn't believe that. I should have. What I realized, subsequently, is that the past weeks with short hair (which I was getting used to), I didn't feel like a cancer patient. Nobody knew.

Saturday morning, I woke up in the country side at David's cousins' house (Tim, Judith, Susannah and Mary Lousia Jones) -- I went to wash my face and comb my hair and with the first stroke of the comb, the comb was full of hair. It was as if the hair simply weren't connected to my head anymore. Because we were planning to visit David's various relatives that day (cake with Uncle Paul and Aunt Rosina, a visit to Aunt Alice, tea with Uncle Frank and Aunt Emily, potluck dinner with the Jones') I decided to make an effort to keep my hair for the day. So I dispensed with comb and put on a little mousse, hoping that would hold it in place. We hit the road. The sun roof was open and I could see hair swirling in the wind when I chose to notice. Where my head leaned back against the seat it developed a small bald spot by noon. But all in all it stayed intact enough for the day that I wasn't totally self conscious. I was clearly aware, however, that the time had come.

When we got home, I said to David: it's time to liberate the hair from my head so that it isn't just all over the pillow in the morning. David wasn't too exicted about the shedding process -- I don't think either of us knew quite what one was suppposed to do. So I disappeared into the bathroom. I was gone for about an hour and David said he felt a little helpless. The bathroom was a bit dim and I couldn't exactly see what I was doing. With a growing hole in my stomach about what was happening I pulled and pulled. It didn't hurt. It really wasn't connected at all. But it was much more hair than I had anticipated. I stroked my head, I combed, I pulled - until I couldn't do it anymore. There was still so much wispy stuff there and some big clumps on the back that I couldn't see. I felt desperate -- help, get it OFF! -- and very old. My face is all puffy and jowley from the steroids, my neck in triplicate -- and now I am 100 years old. I was terrified to show David. But now I really needed help.

I wrapped my shawl around my head and, determined, went out to ask for David's help. I entered the room and said "the hair is gone... but it's not gone and I really need your help. We need to shave my head right now. I can't wake up like this in the morning." I pulled the shawl off my head and tried to laugh. He stood up and smiled and hugged me and the effort to laugh melted into tears. David was sweet. He said I looked like a baby, cute. I felt like a 100 year old alien. I did NOT feel cute.

I had to focus on what was bothering me so much this time around. For god's sake, I had been there before. Part of it is the steroid look -- one's face really changes. But an even bigger part was the full-on slap-in-the-face that I was a cancer patient again. I had a good run of not feeling like that. Whoa. This was a change. And until I had that wispy look, I think I had never looked more like a cancer patient. I think that was the crux of the matter. So much of the last three weeks caught up with me. That is a good thing but I am still having trouble adjusting.

David immediately jumped in and we went back to the bathroom with my razor. We had a false start; we lathered my head with shaving cream and tried shaving but there were still so many long hairs that it would have taken all night. After 20 minutes we wised up, washed the soap off and found some scissors. We cut as much as we could and then tried again. It took a while but it worked. Once I was bald I was okay. I was liberated again. I was me again. At least someone I kind of recognized. I was okay going to bed and okay waking up. In the morning, David took a picture of Judith, Susannah and Mary Lousia as they first glimpsed my new bald look. Everyone was very supportive and -- like I said -- I was okay by then. I wrapped my head in a scarf (the one from my friend Kristina's wedding!) and set out on my day. A new week. A new look.