It'll Grow Back

Phrases like "it's just hair" and "it'll grow back" brought me great comfort and solace in the weeks after I was diagnosed, right up until I actually started losing my hair. You'd think that after being diagnosed with cancer I would have lost my sense of invincibility, but I was still harboring this seed of hope that I would be the rare medical anomaly, the girl to go through chemo without her hair falling out. Even my lead oncologist briefly entertained this possibility, saying vaguely and cheerfully, "You have a lot of hair."

As the hair loss began the week after my second treatment, I tried to fight back. I didn't touch my hair; I slept in complete stillness so my pillow could not tug at my curls. But, after surrendering a good 50-60% of my locks to my bed, my shower, my hairbrush, my shaking hands, it was time to make moves.

I am forever indebted to the O'Leary family for making this experience not the traumatic loss I had anticipated, but one of the most enjoyable haircuts I've ever gotten. Megie's mom, world-renowned hairdresser, had a mirror and chair set up in her kitchen and oldies but goodies on the radio. It was the hottest day of the summer so far, and Megie and John served up cold drinks, pineapple and delicious grilled cheese.

I intended to go for the full buzz, maybe even bic it, but Meg's mom knows what she's doing. She gave me the shortest and arguably most high-fashion haircut I have ever had. She let me keep my chopped braid in a ziploc bag.

Most touching of all were the boys who came to the O'Learys' to shave their heads. Four incredible people, all moderately uneasy and incredibly commited. I'm keeping a list of "People I Owe Big Time" and you are all up there!

In the meantime I will keep the ponytail-holder around my wrist just in case.