The stream of water from the shower is mixed with my tears. I sat in the tub until the water turned cold and watched my hair dance down the drain. I knew what was happening to me, but I had a good sense of denial about it. Denial only gets us so far though, and finally, after months of hiding, I had to tell him. Telling him made it real. There was no more denying from here on out. I gathered myself in my towel and wiped the fog from the mirror. Here, I partook in a new ritual of mine. Like a gardener inventorying her crop, looking for new growth, and assessing the damage cause by disease. There, another one had fallen out; the lack of roots proved it too had fallen victim to the disease. Each day I study each one, looking for some sign of hope that the damage will be localized. How far is this going to go? How much more will I lose? Totalis? Universalis?These question, unknown by even doctors, torment me.
A sense of identity, a symbol of femininity, vitality, and health. I had no idea how much my hair defined who I was until I began to lose it. Alopecia Acreata, damn you. Damn you for stripping me of my self esteem, for taking a strand of my confidence with each hair. But it doesn't care, it doesn't discriminate. This autoimmune disease goes after men, women, and children without sympathy. This has been a part of me even while I had denied it's existence. But now that the denial was over, changing the part in my hair and putting it up in an ever-shrinking ponytail in effort to camouflage my bare scalp was no longer enough. It's real, whether I hide it or not.
It took me three month to admit to it, and two days to mourn the self I had identified with for 30 years. It seems shallow to mourn longer, yet two days doesn't seem long enough and I fear there will be more dark days ahead of me. I know I'm more than my hair, but I also know that it was just as much a part of me as my fingernails or my skin are, either just as devastating to lose.
The vessel for my spirit in this world has malfunctioned...and there isn't a spare...but, I'm not dying yet. I may look ill more often than not now due to missing patches of hair, but my health is still good and there are varieties when it comes to hair pieces. I had recently discovered that not only are there extensions and full wigs, but also crown wigs, half wigs, 3/4 wigs, and band wigs. In fact, today I purchased and sported some new hair which enabled me to wear my hair down, finally! There is enough out there to see me through the progression of my disease...yes, my disease. I haven't totally accepted it, but I'm in the process of doing so.
And Mister Man, his love for me exceeds the superficial. "Hair or not, I'm still going to be your husband, we're still getting married. And when I lose my hair we can wear each others' wig."
Alopecia, welcome to my journey. You're adding a higher degree of compassion to my spirit.
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