Okay, I’m done. Done losing my hair. Monday, February 20th. I’m tired of my shower looking like Silkwood and my hairbrush looking like a Muppet. I’m not going through chemo – so the only explanation would be the Tamoxifen or stress. Only 5.2% of Tamoxifen users experience hair loss, according to my extensive research (googling it – thanks eMedTV), so I’ve decided it’s stress. Someone once told me that your hair falls out 6 months after the stressful incident. Well, since I found out about the big C in June and I started shedding like a Persian cat on a pair of black slacks in December – it all works out – right? My best friend lost half her hair when she was stationed on a stressful public health project on a tiny nuclear bomb testing target of an island in the South Pacific. Her housemate was nuts, all the food was canned and her front yard was a beach covered in diapers. Her hair grew back when she came back to the states.
It’s especially unfair because I’ve always been a little vain about my hair; blonde and thick, I was accused of having “Blair hair” more than once in high school. (You know – Blair from Facts of Life.)
Once when I was overseas – in Lisbon, Portugal, a strange little shopkeeper smiled as he handed me my package and said, “if you leave my country and cut your hair and come back, I will kill you.” I was so flattered.
A lion without it’s mane? Samson without his hair? Hardly. Scary, annoying, yeah. And hey – a lot easier to dry. Besides – it’s going to stop today.Tweet