Little hairs everywhere

Some celebrate Cinco de Mayo by drinking margaritas; I apparently celebrate by shaving my head.

I think at some point in our life, each of us would like to shave our head. Maybe in frustration for a haircut gone bad, with thoughts of starting over. Or perhaps we are inspired by Sinead O’Connor or for a more contemporary example, Britney Spears.

Regardless, in the past, I know I have been curious about what it would feel like to have a bald head and if I had the guts to go through with it.

Little did I realize that my opportunity would be quickly approaching.

It began with my doctor teasing me because I hadn’t lost my hair and that I would perhaps make it on his abbreviated Hall of Fame since he had only one former patient who never lost his hair.

It has been nearly 6 weeks since my first chemo treatment. Generally, it takes 16-30 days post the first chemo treatment for hair to begin falling out. I passed that milestone without so much as natural shedding of my hair, nothing unusual. I’d shrug my shoulders and tell family, friends, and coworkers: “yeah, it’s weird, I still haven’t lost my hair.”

It wasn’t until about over a week ago when my hair began to shed a bit more than usual.

Soon, I was setting a washcloth over the drain after taking a bath for fear that the myriad of lost hairs would create a hairball in the pipes that even Drano couldn’t dissolve.

I’d nervously begin to feel my scalp tingling and run my fingers through my hair to find more than a few hairs caught between my fingertips.

I began to find hairs on the bathroom floor, on my pillowcase, on the seats of my car, and of course, all over myself. There is only so much dignity you can maintain in public when fishing out stray hairs caught in your bra.

There is something oddly cathartic about cutting off all of your own hair. In this scenario, I had my mom help me buzz my hair short. I have some small bald patches, but generally I look like a Tibetan monk or someone going into Boot Camp. I’m lucky that my head isn’t misshapen or has visible craters or birthmarks.

I miss my hair a bit. I miss running my fingers through my hair and rubbing my scalp to release stress. Now my hair feels like Velcro. It makes a weird noise against my pillow as I sleep, like sandpaper to wood.

I’m a bit nervous about going in public with a bald head and a headwrap. Even though I have some wigs, including a pink one on loan from a friend. Before I remained somewhat anonymous because people couldn’t necessarily tell that I was sick. Now, the visual cue of missing hair will no doubt alienate me from strangers.

But no matter, I will rock the bald.