The False Struggle of Hair

Pre-Cancer Hair

I have always been a girly-girl. Dresses, dance class, Barbies and (eventually) make-up were my hobbies and my entertainment of choice since I can remember. One of my middle school yearbooks put a saying next to each student's name of something they either did or said, throughout the year and my quote was, "I don't care what you guys are doing, I'm dressing up". I love a special occasion, and I spent countless, endless, early morning hours on drying and curling my hair.

So, this past year isn't a story of someone who never really cared about their look, more specifically, their hair. I loved having long hair that I could curl and style and have a fancy up-do done whenever possible. The idea of losing hair was devastating. I thought cutting my hair to the chin was a bold move - and then I only did it when much of my hair fell out naturally after pregnancy. And I looked back on those short-hair photos and wonder what I was thinking - then let it grow out until I had another baby. I made people wait to attend weddings and formals, holding up dinner plans and showing up late to my own hosted dinner parties because I had to get my hair right. I can only imagine how many hours of my life I wasted on this now-ridiculous ritual.

Fresh from surgery hair

And then I had brain surgery. Looking back now, I remember a few discussions about hair: "Should I shave it myself before surgery?" (answer: No. Let the surgeon cut what he needs and then decide what to do later), "Will I lose my hair during chemo?" (answer: No, but radiation is another story), but I can honestly say that after my diagnosis, the idea of how my hair looks fell to the very bottom of my priority list. 

My surgeon shaved exactly half of my head. And I enjoyed joking about how I was the hippest housewife out there, or how I could get a job at Hot Topic or Anthropology just because I looked trendy. And some of the most awkward conversations I had were people telling me how "brave you are to cut your hair so short!" and "what on Earth made you cut it all off?!" and many complimenting how the short hair fits me, "how did you have the courage to go so dramatically short?". All of these comments are nice and well-meaning, but what I want to say in response (and normally I don't, but sometimes I'm feeling feisty) is that the bravery isn't in the hair. The bravery was the 14 hour awake craniotomy that I went through. The bravery is in waking up and staying positive and sending my kids to school without wallowing in self-pity. The real courage is continuing life, even though it's scary to think what the future might bring. 

Which is why I write about my hair. It has taken many forms and many colors since I was forced to change my perspective. 

A couple weeks from surgery, when our baby needed ear surgery

Mothers Day brunch with my big guy

Radiation is what really did a number on my hair. I wasn't expecting it, but those laser beams zapped patches of hair right out of my head. Not all at once, just slowly enough that I looked up one day and saw that I had large completely bald spots all along my hair midline. 

I figure, why swim upstream? Just shave it off!

Then I decide to dye it.

First grocery store pink.

Then purple

Then short and blond. Very, very blond.

And then purple again. 

And I keep changing, and coloring and growing and cutting this feature that has become a marker of time, a topic of conversation, and best of all - has transitioned to a fun expression of my own design.