Hairless in Seattle

Well, it started last week. I thought I had more time, but after the second chemo treatment, my hair started to fall out.

It started with just noticeably larger handfuls in the shower and during styling. But I knew what was happening. After all, I’ve had this ever-replacing head of hair my whole life. I could tell this was the beginning of a temporary Sinead O’Connor look for me. A forced look yes, but still temporary, I keep reminding myself.

I was a bit in denial at first and tried to keep my hair for as long as I could. It soon became somewhat comical that the hat I wore on my head was not to simply keep me warm, but actually to keep my hair from falling out like the brown needles on a sad Charlie Brown Christmas tree. Before long—in only a matter of 2 days—just looking at my hair the wrong way produced a chunk of hair plucked from the roots.

Thankfully, I stocked up on nighttime head covers, a few pretty scarves, and a bunch of fun winter hats (and every episode of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, but that has no relevance to my hair loss, I guess).  

And so the time came to shave the remaining thinning, shedding hair. My brave husband, armed with a fully charged electric razor, valiantly removed my pink and brown locks. As I watched the strands fall, I couldn’t help but feel really sad. I didn’t choose this and in fact, I’m still pretty fucking mad about the whole cancer thing. I know I have every right to be sad and upset, but still—I can’t stay mad forever. It’s not healthy and my poor beaten (and now exposed) body needs me to be strong. So, I cried a bit and said good-bye to the fallen casualties of my malignant war. Then took the weirdest-feeling shower ever (having no hair saves tons of time in the shower but sure made my hands feel lost—like Ricky Bobby’s first on-camera interview).  

Easing the pain of my becoming follicle-challenged, my husband shed his punk-fabulous Mohawk and left the security and warmth of his sculpted beard. It’s a sacrifice I’ll never forget and very much cherish. I can’t help comparing us to the Coneheads from SNL, as we look so alien. But we match….and that’s a beautiful thing. 

You won’t see me proudly trotting around town under my newly bald scalp, that’s just not me. This is a very vulnerable state for me and I won’t be showing anyone my new Uncle Fester look. Instead, I’ll be sporting fuzzy caps with pom-poms and warm snowboarding hats for the next couple of months. And when it grows back, I vow to love my hair as it is naturally (or as it is forever altered by the devil’s serum….I mean ‘treatment’).