I smile at myself in the mirror. Finally, after two years, my hair is naturally highlighted by the summer sun. The texture is thick, fine, and silky. I hardly have to brush the wedged bob that swings about my ears just over the my dangly earrings. It is even long enough I can stack it behind my ears to hold it out of my face when I am in down dog on my yoga mat. Finally, I earned my crown.
A couple of mornings ago, I shook my damp tresses over the sink as I finger dried them after my shower. The basin was peppered in five inch stands of silk hair. The time had come again. See, I had entered the cancer world once more two weeks prior. On this day, as my hair began to thin, I had completed ten full brain radiation treatments out of twenty. Half way. My Radiology Oncologist said she was pretty confident that my hair would simply weaken, fall out, and grow back in pretty quickly. Where as chemotherapy drugs actually kill the cell structures of the hair at the follicle causing the hair to have to regrow just like a new born baby. And, when I had chemo in 2009, and lost my hair, that is exactly what it did. It grew back fuzzy. Like a newborn and then became wiry, dark, and course. It took about two years to grow it to my normal texture and color. So with radiation, it is supposed to just get weak, thin out gradually, and quickly come back in as is. That is the hope anyway.
Regardless, all day after the peppering of my sink basin in hair, I was pulling bits of strands from the collar of my sweater and tossing them to the ground. I was afraid to touch my hair. Wide awake early the next morning lifting my head from a nest of hair on my pillow, I decided it was time for a cut. So trooped into the bathroom and got to work. I couldn't go to a salon because my scalp is too sensitive for the stuff they used there. I couldn't face telling a stylist what was going on, what I wanted, nor how gentle they needed to be. Besides, I didn't want to pay even $35 for a style that may actually only last a week more. So I got to work. I cut my sons hair and have a buzzer, The Peanut by Wahle. I put on the four guard and buzzed away on the back just do like I do on his head once a month I actually would have liked to keep a bit longer at the crown but had to bring it up as I could't hand cut that area by myself. It is okay, not great. Then I thought about the rock star Pink! And, this other movie star I can't remember the name of it these fun spikes and long front swoop duns. I used my scissors. I also cut my daughter's bob once a month and have the proper scissors and combs for that use. I graduated the lengths from the buzzed area at the crown which was very difficult. Then, hanging my head deep, I pulled the strands out in sections sliding the scissors along the length two create long layers.
By this time, my daughter has awoken and totters in to my room. She begins to cry at the wade on hair piled on the towels on the floor. Teachable moment of tender mothering proceeds as I confirm her doubts, fears, and empathy for the situation at hand. I know for her that my loosing my hair again brings back bad memories from when she was just my little four year old princess wishing she had a mommy with Repuntzle's golden tresses. I tell her that for now, I might get to keep some hair. It is just that it is thinning and easier to loose shorter lengths then long strands. I confirm that it may all fall out, but for now, it just needs cleaning up. "Besides, don't you think I am looking pretty rock star?" "Yes," she replies. As I continue my cutting. She babbles on how dad needs to go get a mohawk, her brother can spike his and she is going to be the singer who always has these really long, blonde, big hair dubs... have a rock band. Proud mommy moment proceeds. Way to girl girl, making your limes into cherry limeade and sipping slowly.
So it is done. Not perfect, but, not half bad. I shower, use a roller brush to lightly curve it forward and lift. Spray it hairspray and am all set to continue the morning of oatmeal, book bags, managing dressing two kiddos and marching the half mile walk to our little neighborhood elementary school. On time and smiles...well mostly.
In light of Thanksgiving in a few weeks, the school hosted a family luncheon of both the kindergarten and second grade classes. So I attended both lunches with my son and then my daughter. Taking off my hat, I had a lot of surprised smiles from the other parents of whom I know many being the Room Mom in both classes. Some know that I am going through brain radiation and some have no clue. The staff, of course, know I may be bald in the end as I prepared them so they can properly support the children as they deal with peers if that would happen. So I received responses varying from: "You go girl. Way to take control and ease into this." All the way to: "Wow, I wish I had the confidence for a big change like that. Looks great!" I simply smiled confidently and replied that I am going rock star and funk for a change, why not.
So there you are, that is what it takes to be a survivor. A little rock star confidence. A great smile is essential. And, yah, heck, it really helps to understand hair and it's cultural language it speaks. Hair is your book cover. There isn't anyway around that in this Human existence with each other. So go with it, love it. And if it is not quite right, it can be changed. Because the coolest thing about hair is that it WILL grow back.
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