If you go in to the hairdresser's on the first of April and she says,"So, just a trim today?" and you say, "Nope. Shave the whole thing down to the nub," she'll say, "This is a joke, right?" Nope.
My hair's been falling out for the past few days. You can tell where I've been by the drift of white and gray filaments in my wake. The cats are envious: a mere human shouldn't be able to shed like that. More annoying than the untidiness of it, though, is the fascination of being able to yank and have a handful come out. I found myself sitting and pulling mindlessly.
So today was the day. Jerry had to go back over my head with a razor after I came back from the hairdresser's. She'd left the kind of stubble that is (I think) still fashionable on young men's chins, but we were going for the billiard ball effect, which I think we finally achieved.
I have several reactions to this whole thing. First, I've been through it all before. No big deal. Maybe it will grow back in fluffy curls like the last time. Meanwhile, I have a couple of great hats made by my own personal milliner, plus several scarves.
Also, in the larger scheme of things, this is nothing. If the worst I have to deal with is a cold scalp, I'm luckier than most people.
But. But. Suddenly I'm identifiable as a Cancer Patient. I am visibly different, the Other, and I this bothers me more than I expected. It's one thing to get expressions of love and concern from the people close to me; it's something else to see the flicker in the eyes of strangers as they look at my head.
Okay, so I could wear a wig, but I refuse to do that. It's only now as I sort through this that I suspect the reason is that for me, wearing a wig would be the ultimate denial. It would be as though I were hiding the fact that I have cancer even from myself. So that leaves it that I just want to hide it from total strangers. Which now that I've thought about it seems just plain silly.
While I'm clearly not a poet, this expresses my overarching feeling about hair loss:
Trees release their leaves,
Send them as messengers to the world:
Say, deal with the cold, the pain, the emptiness.
Your reward is spring, new leaves, new life.
Gekkos drop their tails,
Confuse persuing predators:
You can't catch me, stripped down for action.
You can't catch me, stripped down for action.
I'll escape, regenerate, renew.
My hair falls out in handfuls,
Litters the floor, blows into corners.
My cold and naked scalp proclaims:
I will survive. Await my spring.
