Last Day of Hair

My last day of long hair was yesterday. I think I told you guys in the middle of last week that it had started to shed a little, and that accelerated until on Saturday I could brush it out and brush it out and never stop getting hair. Not just a few strands either, but a lot of hair. Also, my scalp at the back of my neck was a little tingly and sore. The doctor had told me to expect that.

Friday and Saturday I wore my hair in a bun to keep me from fiddling with it all day, and to stop it from getting absolutely everywhere. I wasn't sure what to do. It looked totally normal. You would never have thought my hair was falling out. I had so, so much of it, and it wasn't coming out in clumps. I thought, "I could probably go a few more days like this before it even looks thin," but I also went to the wig store and picked up the wig I'd ordered.

This shedding process was getting a little creepy and depressing. I'd stand at the mirror, brush my hair, hold up a handful of it, and say, "Wow, look at that." Lather, rinse, and repeat this all day. Matt took to standing next to me when I would take it down and brush it, just to provide moral support. Not that I was freaking out--not at all--but the whole scene was a bit grim.

Finally, sometime Saturday evening, I thought, "Okay, this needs to be over." I didn't want to mourn every handful as it went, for days. Did I mention we are talking about a lot of hair? Like a metric ton. I didn't want to spend another day with hair loss as the top story, I wanted to get out in front of it. Somehow it started to seem like not such a big deal. I climbed the mountain of Whatever and reached the peak of To Hell With It.

On the way to see Iron Man 2 (it was okay), Matt and I stopped at Target and bought some hair clippers. We also bought some tiny candy bars, but they aren't part of this story. When we got back home, our resolve wavered. Matt said, "I mean, it still looks so pretty." And it did. It looked normally-thick too. But I knew all that hair was a dead man walking. Shedding like crazy. And that tingly feeling was spreading. The hair was strong, but Cytoxan is stronger. As Matt said, holding a handful of hair, "Well, I bet it's kicking the ass of any cancer cells in there."

Then we took iPhone pictures of ourselves in the mirror--like, hey! here we are with some hair!--then we agreed it was time to get her done. I said, "It's late and this is going to take an hour." Matt said, "It's going to take ten minutes." And he was right. I sat in a chair in front of the mirror up in the Golden Palace, and he buzzed my head all over with the #7 guard, and left it a little longer on top. I also drank a teensy cocktail, but that isn't part of this story.

We joked about the scene in The Bourne Identity where dude gives the girl an adorably chic bob just by hacking at it with nail scissors, and Matt promised to wipe the whole place down for fingerprints when we were done. You want him on your team, people. It wasn't supposed to be perfect--I just wanted to be able to put my wig on, and for the rest of it to go ahead and fall out without clogging all the drains of the world. The result is a sort of cross between a Riot Grrl and Dennis the Menace. I had thought watching might be a downer, but it was kind of fascinating seeing it all get cut off, and we were pretty jolly. The pile of hair on the tile was just enormous, wow. Matt said, "We will never forget this day."

Anyway, what I am getting to with this endless story is this: All this has turned out to be Not That Bad. Like, I am sorry that I ever spent a minute worrying about my hair falling out. Granted, I am not bald yet, but it's such a drastic change that I feel like I can imagine baldness, and it doesn't bother me. Turns out, I still look like myself. It seems that hair loss doesn't make your face fall off. How about that?

This morning I came downstairs in my wig, and Hank and Laura were excited to see it. (We had talked to Hank about the whole issue last week, and when I overheard him tell Laura that my medicine was making my hair fall out, I knew he had successfully processed it.) Right away Hank said, "Show me your regular hair." So I pulled off the wig. Laura laughed and said, "You look like a man!" Hank squealed and said, "You look like a man! A mailman!" Then I put the wig back on and they were like, are we still talking about this?

So I spent some time in the wig today--I went shopping with Pretty Neighbor--and I think it is going to work great. In it I look like the naughtiest flight attendant you ever saw. I'll have pictures soon. Goodnight sweethearts and Happy Mother's Day to those of you for whom that applies. xoxo-B