On Losing My Hair

So, it happened on Monday morning. At the time, we were in Sun River with the Pixtons. I was gently washing my hair, noticed several hairs in my hands and thought, "This must be it." I reached up to my head and pinched a small tuft of hair and pulled. With almost no effort whatsoever, the hair came right out. After I got out of the shower, I tried again with the same results. Almost immediately, I jumped in the car with Skye and found a place in town to shave everything off. Once I knew my hair was falling out, I wanted it all gone - right now. It was an immediate obsession.



Losing my hair was a cathartic experience. It had/has nothing to do with my appearance - I'm simply not self-conscious about that. (In fact, in some twisted way I like being bald because I've always viewed losing my hair as a necessary badge -- of courage? of pride? -- to be a full-fledged member of the cancer club.) Rather, losing my hair was tangible/visible evidence of the toxicity of the chemotherapy drugs. Sure, the chemo drugs have made me sick, but sickness can be rationalized in innumerable ways. Losing my hair, on the other hand, forced me to really acknowledge the high stakes game of body poisoning that is currently taking place within me. I'm a real cancer patient. The cancer in my body is so menacing that I need to invade my body with highly toxic chemicals or it will kill me. I mean, really, that's what it comes down to, right? Wow.

Of course, I don't believe for a second that I'm actually going to die anytime soon - I'm really not the slightest bit worried. But the fact that I'm even having a real conversation with myself about the possibility of death is, ultimately, sobering.

Losing my hair away from home in a serene cabin setting alongside a river was good. It was a little shocking. On some level I was glad to have the experience, viewing it as sort of a rite of passage. Yet I was also glad to be able to leave it behind in Sun River...