In 2016, I underwent a full hysterectomy and was assured the
small cancerous tumor on my uterus had be eradicated without any further
treatment like radiation or chemo.
Grateful for the fantastic outcome, I was especially
delighted at not having to lose my hair.
Sure, to avoid regular shaving of underarm and leg hair
sounded terrific. But to bid adios to my silver mane was a step, I didn’t want
to consider.
Blessed with terrific, thick and wavy follicles since childhood,
many had complimented me as it changed from its original platinum blonde through
the brunette years to the arrival of grey strands that first appeared in my
early 30s. Even then, the new color ringed my face, causing people to think it
was highlights. My hairdresser told me to tell everyone, that he and not Mother
Nature, was responsible.
But by 2018, things drastically changed. A stage 4 tumor now
invaded my body. Requiring both radiation and then chemotherapy, keeping my
hair was not to be.
It stayed through the 10 radiation treatments, but by the
second chemo session it was evident things were thinning. I cut it shorter, but
it was not enough.
Running my hands across my hand made my fingers
hair-covered. Clothes and pillows became covered, but the worst came the day I
got into a taxi.
Opening the window to let in fresh air, the gust blew hairs
from my head and onto the driver.
Thankfully, having driven me to several of my medical
appointments, he knew my situation and remained fairly cool. Still, I was embarrassed
and decided the time had come to deal with my pate problems.
With scissors in hand, I faced my mirrored image.
With scissors in hand, I faced my mirrored image.
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