The Thinning

It began last night in the shower. One hand through the hair before I shampooed. Out came many strands. We all lose a few hairs each day, in each shower, right? Tried the other side. Many more strands.

I had the option of waiting a day or two or three more. Maybe even another week. But this afternoon, I shaved it off. This, for several reasons:

1. My hair really hurt. You know that feeling of letting your hair down after it's been pinned up all evening? (Sorry, male readers. You'll have to choose to believe the women in your life on this one.) Your hair is sore after that, right at the root. For a few minutes, at least. My hair was feeling like that all the time.

2. Why delay the inevitable if it means dropping hair all over my house? The Merry Maids came today, and I was mindful that everything had just been vacuumed.

3. It's really annoying to pull out so much hair while in the shower. There it is, in my hand. Can't send it down the drain. So I twist it up so it holds together, then drape it over the shower handle where it awaits being tossed into the trash afterwards. Repeat. Shampoo. Takes at least 6 swipes through to rinse all the soap out, each soap yielding another handful. Twist each one. Drape each one.

It was the longest shower of my life!

I now look like Natalie Portman in V is for Vendetta.

But soon I'll look less like her, and more like someone else. Though without the hat.

Speaking of which, I do have a cute little hat to wear that a friend gave me. And a wig or two. Photos of those are forthcoming, but I need to wait until all my hair is gone lest the natural hairline throw off the whole look.

I'm not too bothered by all this. I've had a few emotional moments--just more grief--but now that the deed is done, I figure, "Eh." The real bummer of it, for me, is that I feel marked as a cancer patient. Just today, I was chatting with a grandmother (whom I'd just met) as we watched our kids play at a park and she was going on and on about the foot problems she'd been having. I thought to myself, "If she knew about me, she'd not be telling me all this. Or maybe she would, but would do so comparatively. As in 'Of course, it's not as bad as what you're dealing with.'"

And I find that I pretty much like not being thought of a breast cancer sojourner by total strangers.

Hey! "Sojourner" as opposed to "warrior"? Hmm. . . )

That's what a wig is for, I suppose.

The other comfort is that it will grow back. Unlike certain other parts recently cut off of my body.

I saved some hair in a little baggie so I can compare color with the new growth. And I asked Gemma what color she thinks that will be. Purple? Blue? She's hoping for pink.