The Search For Hair - Saturday, August 8, 2009

After a semi-frantic search, I finally found a wig that looked like my hair which gave me some sense of security. By the way, I found out that manufacturers title their wig styles by female names. My wig’s name is "Abby." Although I was glad to have found "Abby", I was determined not to wear her until the very last minute. I know from talking to several women about this subject that everyone faces it differently. For me, the longer I could wear my own hair, the better. So every day for weeks, I arrived at work and ask several people how I looked. Would I freak out a customer because of the hair loss? Several staff, especially Marilyn, were kind enough to daily inspect my head and give me their honest feedback.

At the same time as the hair loss, a strange phenomenon occurred. It seemed the more hair volume I lost and the redder it became (a reaction between the Thymuskin hair treatment and the Henna I was using to color it) the more compliments I received from the male staff and the customers, both male and female. This lasted for weeks and sometimes amused me. So, I would cry every morning and evening as I fixed or washed my hair and about a half of a bucket worth came out, then I would arrive at work and be complimented on how great it looked. It really made me wonder. One day, I think I received the sweetest compliment from Brian. He sincerely told me that I had such a beautiful face that even if I became bald I would still look great. I knew he was not due for a raise in pay anytime soon, so I believed him.

There were times that I could find humor in the situation though. One particular day, I walked into the store yelling "bald-o-meter, bald-o-meter." I need someone to tell me how bald my head looks today. Marilyn laughed and said, "Give me that head!", as she grabbed my shoulders to see if all the bald spots were covered. Another day, I had a sudden burst of inspiration. I told Marilyn we could invent a new game for people going through chemo. She looked at me quizzically wondering what I was about to say. I told her that we could make a game called "Where’s Baldo?" and that chemo patients could look for the bald-headed person in the pictures. We both laughed hysterically. Every one who heard the idea thought it would sell. Please excuse my macabre sense of humor, but you have to find humor somewhere when you are in my position.