And it's trying to kill me.
Seriously everywhere that the back of my head touches pillow makes the hair follicles hurt. Those golden spears and arrows that I asked you all to think about our now attacking the follicles in my scalp. They are trying everything they can to make me lift my head off the pillow.
And so much hair is falling out that I feel little afraid to go to sleep without wearing a safety mask or something. Actually did cover my mouth with my palm. Will I be smothered during the night by my own hair?
But Gino's haircut is standing up well. I really don't look like a balding person. My hair is shiny and bouncy and likes the freedom of the shorter length, making it look overall pretty danged healthy.
That didn't keep me from going to my wig fitting on Wednesday and asking Gina to join me. I was a little nervous about Gina, because she has been quite vocal about how she best likes my hair, a little shorter than I usually have it cut and brightened up with blonde.
The first wig that I tried on actually confirmed those fears. It was a little too bob-cut for me, but she liked it. Trying at first to match my own look, we began with gray/blonde does in various styles, most of which we both liked. The one we thought we liked best was not available so we moved into blonder territory. Actually a little strawberry red number, a lot like George's, appealed to both of us. And it had a little flip and curl to it that felt a lot like my own hair. Come to Mama. After a steaming to take away a little too much Dolly poofyness, it looked great. We decided not to trim any of the feathered tips. Gina built up my confidence to try something new and different for me.
I am must admit, losing my hair was my biggest fear at the beginning of all of this cancer adventure. I am afraid that my hair really is a huge part of my identity. I am constantly grateful for what an excellent head of hair I have. Though I do very little to it, other then wash and air dry, I think about it very often. I'm verging on saying that I am quite vain about it, a lot of false pride. I'm not really sure what false pride means, but I do think my hair is outstanding and easy to manage and maintain. It is a god-given gift and I am grateful. God is who ought to have the pride I guess I'm saying.
Even before being particularly aware of vanity, my hair drew a lot of attention. First it was platinum blonde, turned green from chlorine. I spent most summer days at the country club swimming. Mom dropped us off before her golf game and we 4 girls lived in the pool. We first practiced for the swim team, then did some synchronized swimming, then played games like Marco Polo, blind man's bluff, jump or five, swim over rover. We had lunch somewhere during the day in Selma's café. Then we went home and swam some more before and after dinner.
So from very early on I was aware that my hair was interesting to other people. Long before I even got boobs, classmates would ask me if my hair was natural or if I died it.
Clairol may even have taken a little advantage of me, by having me model for them. I don't think anyone explicitly said that my hair was my own color, not Clairol's, but it was certainly implied.
I was in hair heaven until my late 20s, when my locks turned dull and mousy. I wasn't spending the summers getting a bleached out anymore and it looked pretty drab. Guess this is when Gina first began to think I needed some highlights. Though it did take a few years, I finally found the look I wanted. Ann Buttonwieser, a fellow Parks Council board member, had beautiful hair. I asked her if it was natural. No. No? Who? What? Where? I can't believe I don't remember the answers, because I went to that guy for years. He did a great job with the highlights. And I continued to go to him even after we moved to Boston. That wasn't really all that unusual as I continued to use my Cleveland hairdresser for many years after moving to NYC. Once I find ' em, I keep 'em.
In fact, I almost lost Gino. But fortunately a friend of ours also used him and happened to mention where he had moved his business. He was my regular excuse to leave Cape Cod for the mainland.
A couple memories from high school. Mimi, my very best friend and a bit of a doppelgänger, never combed the back of her head. She ratted her hair and made everything look great from the front, but didn't bother with the back. I asked her why. I think she said she never looked at it so why bother. She did the same thing about her tan, never turning on her stomach to do the backside. The other memory is of my senior photo for the yearbook. I did curl my hair and one side was rolled up real tight. It looks so weird in that photo.
That reminds me that I actually spent a fair amount of time working on my hair in high school and in college. I used many different types of curlers, even sleeping in them fairly often. I used lemon to bleach out my hair. I even tried peroxide once, but the mouthwash was not effective on my hair color.
I tried a couple of permenants even. It was a little too straight for my taste back then. It got a little waiver after having babies.
I was thrilled when it started turning gray, because more and more it looked like my teenage hair. I felt like myself again.
I'm looking forward to being a redhead somedays. Also ordered a halo, which is a partial wig to be worn under your hat. It's quite platinum blonde, straight and a little bobbed. I can use the bangs or not.
Maybe I'll even be braver with my own hair when it does grow back.
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