I’ve always loved my hair. My best feature, I’ve worn it long and loose most of my life. It’s full and thick and looks pretty decent in a simple cut, brushed straight, swinging about. Some years I’ve worn it short, in a chin-length bob, but always, always parted on the side. It’s the only thing I really like about my face, actually. The only thing that makes me feel … like me.
Three days ago, my scalp started tingling. I wondered at the time if that meant my hair would begin to fall out, but I didn’t lose so much as a strand for days. Then, today, in the shower, I smoothed it back with conditioner, and … a clump fell out in my hand. Shocked, I smoothed the other side back. Same result. (Duh.) So there I stood, with two handfuls of hair, and that much less on my head.
I know I said that I was ready for my hair to fall out, but I don’t think I was quite ready to see it happening.
After I dried off, it was time to take action. I found the hairclippers and shaved my head. No, it’s not all gone, but I did give myself a close-cropped boy-cut so that as the hair falls out it doesn’t pile up everywhere and make a mess of things. The cut is rather cute, actually. I might wear it like this for a while when my hair grows back in in January.
My oncologist told me that two weeks after I started chemotherapy, my hair would begin to fall out. My first chemo treatment was two weeks ago yesterday. Right on schedule. I hope that all of my responses to chemotherapy are so textbook. I hope that these chemo drugs are effective at squashing the cancer, and I hope that they shrink the cancer so much that I will be able to have the surgery in January as planned. I hope. I hope.