The Truth About Hair Loss

You know, it’s funny. Since I’ve become “Hair-free” (my term) I’ve had time to reflect on the process of losing my hair. No one tells you how you will lose your hair on Chemo, but everyone warns you that you will.
Everyone.

Former cancer patients mutter in ominous tones, “You will lose your hair. I just want to warn you...” Doctors and nurses say, “There is a chance that you will lose your hair...” Some who did, really feel the loss, with a pang that is palpable. Their eyes signal a sadness that goes beyond the physical. This is strange to me, since I know, yes – know – that it will grow back. This sense of loss, seems to be rooted in something deeper. For women, it might represent a loss of their femininity, or maybe a confirmation of the fact they are indeed, ill – something I was well aware of.

For me, fear wasn’t an issue. I was kinda looking forward to losing my hair, since I’d always wondered what I’d look like bald. My only trepidation was that I might have a Ms. Potato-Head kinda head, lumpy and misshapen. After all, I was going into this knowing that it would grow back. Guys that lose hair don’t have that option. It would be an adventure. High-wire flying...with a net.

What no one was telling is exactly how you lose your hair. Is it gradual? Quick? Do you wake up one day and voilá ... you’re bald? Does it happen while you’re in the supermarket, as you lean down to get the cheap cereal in the lower shelf. Does it fall off your head like a bad toupee? No one was saying. I can now reveal how and when.

The when was Thursday morning, March 9th, 2006 at 8:14 am precisely. How do I know? Because a minute before, I was laying in bed wondering if and when I’d lose my hair. I had tugged on a lock and it was still firmly attached. Then the oddest thing happened, my scalp started to tingle, nay, vibrate, as if a mild electrical undercurrent were being passed through it. The roots of my hair actually began to feel lose. My skin suddenly felt uber-sensitive. The entire scalp wanted to take off, to fly away from the rest of my head. It was a strange and disconcerting sensation. I reached up once again, and pulled on another lock of hair. This time the entire lock came off in my hand. Wow. Just like that the process had begun, exactly 2 weeks and 2 days from my first chemo treatment.

I decided to let nature take its course and see how quickly it would all go. My friend Ev asked, when I told her, “Did you shave it yet?”
“Nope. I want to see what happens.”
“I shaved it. I was sick of leaving hair everywhere.” Ah, but she had long hair. I have short hair. I reasoned that I wouldn’t feel pressured to take any drastic measures any time soon. I’d outlast her, I was sure.

I find the term “lost” inaccurate. I didn’t “lose” my hair. I knew exactly where it was. It was in the livingroom, the bedroom, the bathroom, the back of every chair and sofa I sat on. It was on my pillow, so voluminously laid, that you’d have thought I was sleeping on my dog. It was a trail that I left everywhere I went. Then there was the sensitivity. It hurt to have hair on my head. Don’t ask me why. But I couldn’t lay my head down without cringing. I lasted a measly three days, and even then, there was plenty of hair left on my head, but I could not take it anymore.

Next: The big bald...

©2006 Annelise Pichardo