Tomorrow morning, I have my appointment at MD Anderson. I'm excited, because I feel like this is a step in a new direction. I'm terrified, because I hate change and I'm not sure where, exactly, I am headed.
Sure, I've been given a little bit of information. (Just enough to be dangerous, probably.) I take comfort in the thought that I should get to keep my eyelashes, but I'm horrified that I'll lose my hair.
It's my best quality. Or, attribute, actually. (I don't know that one could call hair a "quality". It doesn't actually contribute much, in the way of a quality, now that I think about it.) But it is how people recognize me, and the fact that I will lose it - and relatively soon - is killing me.
Kathy U. has told me for about 10 years now that I have "book cover hair". You know, like a heroine in a book. In the full color picture on the dust cover, book girls almost always have long, flowing locks that are just a little bit curly. To a high school age Kathy U., that was me. It won't be me anymore. At least for a while.
Whitney Dibble once chased Liz Roberts and I around the neighborhood, trying to catch up to us so she could give us some homemade banana bread. (And let me tell you, when she finally caught us, I was glad that she did!) Lizzie and I had been doing our visiting teaching (read: it was the end of the month and we were out cruising the ward, handing out cookies to our friends in lieu of a lesson) and Whitney passed the car. When she pulled up beside Lizzie's car, she told us that she hadn't been able to see who was driving, but she could see the hair in the passenger seat, and she knew that whoever was driving that car was with me. ... I sure hope my wig will be as obtrusive and easy to spot as my own actual hair is.
About 18 months ago, my high school English teacher died. I, of course, went home for the weekend. After the service, I turned around to see Christy Burgess behind me in the chapel. I gasped in surprise and delight. We'd been in Miss Cunningham's class together, and I was so happy to see a friend whom I hadn't seen in over 15 years. Christy made me laugh when she told me that she had seen me from the back of the chapel when the congregation stood to allow for the family to exit the building. I was sitting in the second row from the front. She said that she couldn't miss me, between my height and my hair, neither of which had changed.
It will be years before I'll have book cover hair again. It breaks my heart a little to know that, in a matter of a few months, no one will recognize my hair and know that it's me driving or standing ahead of them. I don't know when I'll ever have someone run their fingers through my hair again. That's one of my favorite sensations, it's so comforting and is so intimate. I won't have that feeling for... well, I don't even know how long.
I hate the thought of losing my hair. I hate it. At the same time, I don't really have an option. I've been told that chemo will give me the best chance of beating this stupid disease, and I am intent on beating the hell out of it.
It causes me actual, visceral pain to think about not having my own hair on my head. It is how people recognize me. It is what I am constantly complimented on or teased about. My hair has a mind of its own and I've had a love/hate relationship with it for over 30 years. I am heartbroken that I will lose it. I am determined to make the best of this situation and I will not let this get me too down in the dumps. (Quick! I need to find another feature that I can be known for. My smile, maybe? My ski-jump of a nose? I don't know.)
The one and only upside I can think of is that I will finally be obviously sick. No longer will people in a restaurant watch me have to push/pull my tired and decrepit body out of a booth and wonder what is wrong with me. My neighbors won't stare and wonder why it takes me so long to walk to my car, or why I stagger sometimes under the weight of a double load of laundry. I will finally have an obvious reason for moving like an 87 year old instead of a 37 year old. ... Maybe if I focus on the obvious upside and an almost guaranteed outpouring of public sympathy and start practicing a winning smile, I'll be able to get through this alright. I'll see what I can do...
Like I said, I'll get through this. With a smile on my face, even. I'm determined. I have to. ... But tonight, on the eve of meeting a new doctor and getting a more final treatment plan, I am mourning the loss of my hair.
