38. Gone with the Wind

Another post about my hairy situation. I did warn you.

"It's definitely thinning on the top," my husband observed this morning. "Not like mine, with a bald patch, but I can see your skin."

By this evening, I could see it too. Not just the receding hair line, but the bits of pink glowing mischievously in the background. And when I swipe my hand though my hair, I am taken aback by its wispiness.

Hair yesterday, gone today

It's coming out in small handfuls. My daughters are horrified. (Men, it seems, are less bothered by appearances).

"Don't do it, mum!" my older daughter says in alarm every time she sees me doing the let's-see-how-much-I-can-pull-out-this-time thing.

"Noooo, I don't want to see it!" my younger daughter said when I tried to show her the changing landscape of my head via Skype. (She has gone to stay with her godmother in Amsterdam).

For months, I have asserted that I would shave it all off as soon as the first strands made a bid for freedom. I am now well past the first-strand-point, however. My hair is quite literally going down the drain, so it looks as if I have changed my mind.

I reserve the right to change my mind about things.

Perhaps it is the precedent set by Denise. Denise changed me from someone who was convinced she would Never Wear A Wig to someone who Might Actually Wear A Wig Sometimes (especially after several friends, having read my previous blog post, were rather supportive of Denise - thank you kindly. One of them, who saw a photograph of Denise and me on Facebook, didn't even spot her - she commented that I am looking good in my new coat and will surely look good in a wig too).

But back to my own hair.

The reasons for not wishing to shave quite yet, I have decided, are multifold.

One: An appointment at Hair Today and an appointment at Gone Today is just too much in one week. Perhaps it's better to go bald gradually, rather than all at once.

Two: Moulting like a shaggy dog is not as much of a housekeeping problem as I'd thought. As long as I remember to wear a hat when cooking (as I discovered to my cost at dinner time). I've also taken to wearing a garment called a Chemo Sleeping Cap at night, to avoid hairs-on-the-pillow-syndrome.

The Chemo Sleep Cap
(not out of place in a flower power swimming pool)

(I ordered this rather bizarre item of clothing in anticipation. I've been told that my head will get cold at night. A fashion statement it is most certainly not, unless the Easter Egg Look has made a come-back.)

Three: I don't actually mind the thinning hair. In fact it seems as if I don't really mind the impending baldness any more either (although I reserve the right to change my mind about that too). Rather then being distressed, I am intrigued by the process.

I'm not sure what I expected, but I think my imagination involved tufts coming out in one go, leaving me with a patchwork of bald spots. In reality, there is the aforementioned receding hairline and thinning process.

I am like a schoolchild whose tongue is drawn like a magnet to the new gap in her mouth. My fingers keep plucking the different hairy bits, just to check. What is going, what is not?

For the record: eyebrows and eyelashes are reasonably firmly attached. Legs are beginning to give in, very reluctantly (I've grown my leg hair for scientific reasons. As I said, I'm intrigued.) No sign of surrender on my arms. Will they too end up smooth as a baby's bottom? We'll see.

I think I'll leave the shaving until it starts to look ridiculous.

Which could be very soon, the rate things are going.

The hat meant to prevent Dandelion Syndrome

In the meantime, I'll just wear a hat when I'm going for breezy walks, lest I resemble a dandelion on a blustery hill top, its seed heads gone with the wind.