On Getting Buzzed

On Thanksgiving eve of 2007, my hair started falling out.

This is, of course, to be expected, mostly because all of my nurses and doctors have told me that it WILL, without fail, fall out within 2-4 weeks of my first treatment. Mine was within 15 days.

I’ve said all along that when my hair started falling out I would simply shave my head and be fine with it. I was resolved to take it in stride, to brush it off like it was no big deal and not let it bother me. I told everyone that I would be a-ok and that it didn’t matter and that all I really needed to do was prepare myself for the event by cutting my back length hair very short, which I did… twice.

The thing is that it is a very unsettling moment when you run your fingers through your hair and come up with an unusually large quantity of it in your hand; in that moment even the most determined heart suddenly falters, for it is in that moment that all of the inward feelings of sickness are prominently and violently expressed in a physically outward manner that causes the brain to almost shriek, “Oh God, I’m actually as ill as I feel.”

So at first I was a little upset. Within this upset, however, I found new energy which I used to empty the dishwasher, do the dishes in the sink, make corn bread for my stuffing recipe and mess up part of another recipe. As the adrenaline high wore off, though, I resorted to calling my mom.

I couldn’t stop running my fingers through my hair and then looking to see how much I’d collected, though, and so while on the phone with my mom I decided that I ought to put my hair in a glass to help keep it from getting into everything. So for about an hour I sat on the phone with various people while running my fingers through my hair and placing all of the loose strands in a cup. Now, while there is something absolutely mesmerizing about effortlessly taking the hair from your head and placing it in a cup before you, it is equally disconcerting and has the ill effect of causing a resolute mind to crumble just long enough for the affected soul to release her frustration in the form of unwanted and demanding tears.

It is in this confusion of weakened resolve, frustration and strangeness that I found myself desperately wanting a razor to rid myself of the increasing burden of my hair. Unfortunately no one had a functioning electric razor in their possession at that time, and it was late and I was tired and at least 20 minutes from the nearest 24 hour Wal-Mart; thankfully, however, I have been incredibly fortunate to find myself in the company of amazing family and friends, and my mother and father drove to Wal-Mart at 10:30pm, bought me an electric razor, and then drove 20 minutes each way to leave it in my unlocked car so that I might use it in the morning.

The next morning Bryan and I stepped outside and unceremoniously shaved my head.

And so it came to be that on Thanksgiving 2007, I sported my new buzz cut with bald patches at two family dinners, was thankful for my friends and family in a whole new way and minimized the amount of hair in my stuffing.