I used to lay awake some nights dreaming of the romantic and torrid love affairs I might have if only things were different. Yes, if only my locks were long and luscious, we might have had a more pleasing and sensual affair all this time. I envisioned secret rendezvous at the most expensive salons and fat residual paychecks from starring in Pantene Pro V commercials. Alas, I've been stuck in a bad relationship with my hair for the past ten years and yet I just can't seem to let go...
My relationship with my hair has quickly turned from utter hate... to a love/hate ambiguous limbo... to just plain "like" with a reluctant admittance of love. I had a change of heart. I have realized my hair was never really that bad but my complaints were these: too fine, too flat, didn't ever grow long enough without looking straggly. I had a bad hair day every day. I've been doing my fair share of groveling and begging it not to leave me, even still, but my efforts are proving fruitless and rendering me helpless. It wants to go in a killing-me-softly kind of way.
The tipping point began after my second chemotherapy treatment three weeks ago. I would see a few extra strands here and there on the couch or on my dinner plate and knew the process of departure had begun. At first I'd wake up in the middle of the night panic-stricken, touch my head, and make sure it was all there. Phew, it was. Then, with heart racing upon awaking I'd check my pillow for evidence of the impending break-up only to sigh with alleviation. No trace. Was it to fall out strand by strand, massive chunks or pull a dramatic all-at-once maneuver? This I did not know. This was worse than any of the other break ups I was accustomed to - at least I always had my vanity in the aftermath. Also, I've never been dumped by my hair before. Maybe I'm some weird anomaly I thought hopefully. The one girl who doesn't lose all her hair during ABVD Chemo treatment. I could see the headlines in the local newspaper reading "Otherworldly Girl Retains Roots During Chemo." No, it wasn't catchy enough and probably not so newsworthy. But as the days wore on it became clear. This was goodbye.
As I write this blog a lone strand of hair lays across my lap top taunting me. What a tease. I suppose I won't be doing that for a while. I think it knows I'm talking about it, maybe I should be careful what I say. I've come back to edit this sentence and two more have joined it. Buddies, just great. My tresses fall out more steadily now and for the past two days I've almost clogged the shower drain. It's everywhere... the sink, the bathroom wall, the kitchen counter and thankfully still on my head. I can almost hear the ominous sound of taps playing in the distance. Regardless of when it all finally goes or when I feel brave enough to shave it - it will most certainly be a poignant moment in time.
I have faith we'll get back together one day after we've worked out our mutual issues with each other. We'll both say I'm sorry and start out with a clean slate. Given my new found appreciation for ANY hair that grows on my head coupled with the fact that it tends to grow back more beautiful after treatment will hopefully lay the foundation for a more healthy union. And after all, some things are just meant to be.
My relationship with my hair has quickly turned from utter hate... to a love/hate ambiguous limbo... to just plain "like" with a reluctant admittance of love. I had a change of heart. I have realized my hair was never really that bad but my complaints were these: too fine, too flat, didn't ever grow long enough without looking straggly. I had a bad hair day every day. I've been doing my fair share of groveling and begging it not to leave me, even still, but my efforts are proving fruitless and rendering me helpless. It wants to go in a killing-me-softly kind of way.
The tipping point began after my second chemotherapy treatment three weeks ago. I would see a few extra strands here and there on the couch or on my dinner plate and knew the process of departure had begun. At first I'd wake up in the middle of the night panic-stricken, touch my head, and make sure it was all there. Phew, it was. Then, with heart racing upon awaking I'd check my pillow for evidence of the impending break-up only to sigh with alleviation. No trace. Was it to fall out strand by strand, massive chunks or pull a dramatic all-at-once maneuver? This I did not know. This was worse than any of the other break ups I was accustomed to - at least I always had my vanity in the aftermath. Also, I've never been dumped by my hair before. Maybe I'm some weird anomaly I thought hopefully. The one girl who doesn't lose all her hair during ABVD Chemo treatment. I could see the headlines in the local newspaper reading "Otherworldly Girl Retains Roots During Chemo." No, it wasn't catchy enough and probably not so newsworthy. But as the days wore on it became clear. This was goodbye.
As I write this blog a lone strand of hair lays across my lap top taunting me. What a tease. I suppose I won't be doing that for a while. I think it knows I'm talking about it, maybe I should be careful what I say. I've come back to edit this sentence and two more have joined it. Buddies, just great. My tresses fall out more steadily now and for the past two days I've almost clogged the shower drain. It's everywhere... the sink, the bathroom wall, the kitchen counter and thankfully still on my head. I can almost hear the ominous sound of taps playing in the distance. Regardless of when it all finally goes or when I feel brave enough to shave it - it will most certainly be a poignant moment in time.
I have faith we'll get back together one day after we've worked out our mutual issues with each other. We'll both say I'm sorry and start out with a clean slate. Given my new found appreciation for ANY hair that grows on my head coupled with the fact that it tends to grow back more beautiful after treatment will hopefully lay the foundation for a more healthy union. And after all, some things are just meant to be.
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