There are times when you just know you need to make a change, a wholesale change, that will make a difference in your life and mind, starting today. And for me that change was the new, almost-buzz cut.
The first few days home I was too much in pain to really care. But when I started showing up, that is making an effort to feel and look semi-human, my hair started really bothering me. The long-ish bangs were annoying, the sides were bushy and uncooperative, and the back was flattened because: naps.
The other issue I've been dealing with for a few months now is that my hair has thinned a bit, so now my hair growth patterns are more obvious which leads, hysterically, to a Mohawk that I have to tame with mousse and gel and round brush and blow dryer and in some cases even a flat iron. Yep, it's that dramatic.
Women will understand this more than men I think, but in life, hairdressers go through everything with you. "I'm not gonna lie," Katie said while she was shampooing me, "I can tell it's thinner." I had just told her that I had noticed a pretty dramatic uptick in the amount of hair I was losing on a daily basis. We guessed that it had to do with stress level, and losing quite a bit of weight pretty quickly (it was intentional, don't worry). I told her about the Mohawk, and we laughed when she towel dried me and sure enough, there it was in all its glory.
Your hairdresser knows all. She knows about stress at work. She knows about your vacations, your plans for the weekend, your struggles with diet, exercise, wardrobe, hair color, all of it.
You hide nothing from your hairdresser.
So I told Katie about the lump, of course I told her. I also told her about the lie I told. I had heard that our insurance covers one screening mammogram per year, so I denied that there were any symptoms that led to booking this procedure. After all, I thought, if it's not just a cyst it will show up, right? Well, yes, it would/did, but it also meant I went two whole weeks before the diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound, the real beginning. (About the lie: I went to confession that Saturday.)
I need to cut out the distraction of this hair. I need to have one less thing to worry about. I knew Katie would get it. I sent her a video of the buzz cut and asked if she could do this. Of course she could, and I was not surprised that she didn't try and talk me out of it. Hairdressers know when to advise, and when to just agree.
The pre-chemo haircut makes me happy. I can comb it with a towel, spike the heck out of the now-intentional-looking Mohawk, and just not worry about it.
It will all be gone soon enough.
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