[2020-10-20] Hair loss
A few days ago, a spot on my scalp felt sore, like I had hit my head. I asked my husband to see whether I had injured myself. He found nothing out of the ordinary.
The next day, the whole top of my head was tender. "This is probably how it begins," I told myself, thinking about the hair loss that seems to be an inevitable side effect of chemotherapy.
Yesterday, as I was running my fingers through my hair, every pass produced a few loose hairs that came off in my hand. I quickly amassed a little pile of them.
This morning, when I showered, wet strands clung to my shoulders, the walls and floor of the shower, my hairbrush. My hair is thinning quickly, though not yet coming out in clumps. Once bald patches appear, I think I'll shave it off. For now, though, I'll keep it.
After my shower, I said to my husband that it might soon be time to get rid of all my hair, before I leave my tresses everywhere about the house. He felt sorry for me, worried that I would be sad to look at myself in the mirror without hair.
The idea of losing my hair has not preoccupied me. Like so many things with cancer, this is just one more thing I can't control. So I've tried to accept it. I would be distressed if the hair loss were permanent. But it will, in all likelihood, grow back, beginning in April or May. I even joked with someone today that maybe I'll discover that I'm blonde when my hair returns.
I am lucky that my hair loss is occurring in the colder months, when wearing a hat is normal. I already have two lovely bamboo toques, one charcoal and one dark purple, which my daughter and niece bought for me. And among the lovely gifts that my regional colleagues sent to me was a satin pillowcase, which will be gentle on my hairless head.
I may feel differently when I actually have no hair, but until then, I will strive to keep looking on the bright side.
