Last night, I was reading in bed from a book given to me about Hope. It's a compilation of stories from cancer survivors. I was reading about a woman going through chemotherapy who lost her hair at exactly the 2-week mark. While reading, I realized that it was exactly MY 2-week mark that night and I ran my fingers through my hair. And, wouldn't you know it, threads of my hair came out with each run-through. "It's happening", I thought. I considered waking up my husband to share my despair, but instead I laid there...for maybe an hour or so...repeating to myself..."It's happening."
This morning...I was fine. I went about my day. Then I thought of my hair again this afternoon. I ran my fingers through it. Shedding. I tugged at individual hairs....and out they popped. It's happening.
I thought I was prepared for this. I have the scarves. I have a wig. I cut my hair short in anticipation. And yet, I find myself crying like a little baby. I am not even remotely mentally or emotionally prepared for this. I feel so vulnerable. It's not even noticeable yet, but it's happening and I am not handling it well at all. How fast will it fall out? Will I make it through the weekend with hair? At what point do I break out the clippers? This is all feeling WAY TOO REAL right now.
I know I will ultimately be ok. But, today...I am a hot mess. I am feeling sorry for myself and my hair. I am trying to remind myself that the fact that my hair is falling out means that the drugs are circulating in my body and killing things off. That my hair will grow back, obviously. And that I will get used to being temporarily bald. But man...this really sucks. I am going to go have a pity party for myself now and try not to tug at any more hair. I might stop brushing it even. Maybe if I just shellac it with hairspray and stop touching it, it will just stay there. As is. Yeah.