hair

The days of the hairs on my head are numbered.

In our society, it seems that the first word that jumps to mind with the word "chemo" is "hair". Not "treatment plan", not "type" or "stage" - but the first concern after the word "chemo" - is, well, "hair".....

"I have cancer". "When does your hair fall out?"

Don't worry - I know it was one of my first concerns as well.

After my first two and a half hour long consultation with my oncologists, it dropped down to like maybe "Concern Number 18".

For my type of cancer the word "lethal" shows up three times in the "Trial News" on the cancer society's information page. The information packets and my lengthy chat with my oncologists all helped to bring hair into perspective - it's not your biggest worry, honey. In fact, the word "hair" never even came into the conversation.....

I won't lie to you - Concern Number 18 gets just as many tears and frets and sadness as the first 17 do....

It is coming out by the brush-fuls this week. If I touch it, more comes out.

I cry when I try to talk on the phone with my daughters about it. We cry and laugh. And laugh and cry. They grew up in the midst of my dysfunctional hair relationship and the irony of this whole thing is not lost on any of us.

When someone looked at my hair a couple of weeks ago giving me some options for my upcoming 'chemo-hair' loss, she said "wow, you have some really, really thick hair - this is going to be hard for you because there is nothing that can give you that much volume. It will be different looking in the mirror, not only because of your hair loss, but yours is so thick it will really change the way you look...." She was kind and sweet and I mused over her words for a few days.

She was right. There have been times where I have almost willingly shaved my head myself. My hair and I have never been on the best of terms. It is unruly and curls in odd directions. It frizzes. There is a bump at the part line every day of my life because that curl closest to my head cannot be moved nor straightened nor tamed by anything short of an atomic explosion.

I remember the day I sat in Don's - my-best-hair-guy -- chair, and he took like 20 minutes just running his hands through my hair and asked me if hair this thick and this curly were difficult? And I said an emphatic "YES!" and he said "it works 'just right' one week out of the month, and the rest of the time it refuses to do any curl correctly" and I said "YES! YES!"

My hair seemed to have met it's match somewhat..... Finally - an-obstinate-curly-hair-snake-tamer of sorts.

He told me on top of all of that, I have a triple 'crown', giving me even more hair grief most mornings than Phyllis Diller..... I cuss it. I tug it. I use a two-inch curling iron and then a straightener. It has no inkling towards obedience on any terms.

Until this past week that is. I have found it obedient to one thing - chemo.

Yesterday after washing my hair and pulling half of it out of the shower drain and the other 4/10ths out of my brush, I fondly patted my Paul Mitchell's bottles of "tame" and put them away.

There will not be another dry and tug and straighten and curl session in my bathroom for a while.....

My hair is all over the house - if I pull the slightest bit on it, a lot comes out. And in the spirit of full disclosure, I was a little curious myself to how it would all happen as well. This is it.

Someone came to our door yesterday with some wonderful soup and cupcakes, and I thought I might cry - she was the first to see me with 8/10ths of my hair in the bathroom garbage can and I wasn't sure I could open the door. I said something I don't even remember, and shut the door. To her credit, she didn't bat an eye.

Scotty stopped down with the twins for a few minutes and they walked right in and said "wow grandmum - I love your hair"...... whether they were prompted or not, I don't know, but I hugged them tight for their sweetness.

So today, I have two daughters show up at my door - kind of like the dynamic duo - and we do what most women are want to do when the going gets tough and the neutrophils are low - online window shopping - looking for "chemo-hats". They are a little bit bigger, cover the head more - especially this time of year.

When I need to go out and shop for a few things the most - I can't. Because stores have gazillions of germs. Apparently, I am supposed to avoid anything close to germ conglomerations this week - namely people. And maybe for the first time in my life - you know - the "Introvert's Handbook loner of the year" - this week has been a little lonely. Because, my white blood count is just one germ away from calling it quits altogether and catching the next open train car out of town...

So Batman and Robin took their temperatures and lathered on the hand sanitizer and walked right on in my door.

I grieved when my kids left home. A lot. With the girls, one of the things I missed was having fashion advisers each morning. There was no one there to pull the hairs off of my clothes before I went to work. There was no one giving me shoe advice. There was no one to tease me into doing something new with my hair. I missed the "girls-only-girls" time.

But today they show up at my door, driving a long time to get here, and start pulling out my collection of hats and my clothes to match up. Scott brought down a mirror.

They put scarves to my hats to my tops to my sweaters.

They helped me pick out an identity when I am losing one. They helped me think out options and outfits when I didn't think I had a whole lot of wardrobe options.... I have a friend who looks very cool in a pair of jeans, t-shirt and do-rag --I didn't think I could pull off "biker chick" look like she does. I was not sure I could do the - well how does one say this - older lady thing and wear the older lady types..... I was at a loss, and I didn't have the energy nor the time to explore any of this.

They sat me down, did a thorough consultation with me, then typed me and staged me.

I now have "recovery-comfy-options" - that I can wear out of the house. Heidi has had some experience at "recovery-wear"......

Right now I am snuggling down into the red fleece jacket they bought me, with my fleece hat on, and feeling snug and loved. I'm feeling like I can do this.

I think I can open the door now, and when I am finally allowed outside my door to interact with other germ carrying human beings again, I am going to be feeling even a little comfy-chic as well.