It’s Only Hair
So. Funny story.
First, a little setup.
You may remember back in early 2019, I wrote, “Every Personal Essay I’ve Ever Written is Another Bullet Point on a “Random Things About Me” Listicle” for my 38th birthday. Well, bullet point #35 was “Hair.”
35. Hair. As a cancer survivor, I have a unique relationship with my hair, but perhaps not as expected. Luckily, I changed my hair often in the decade before my cancer diagnosis — dark pixie, red bob, short blonde spikes, you name it. So, when I learned I would lose my hair, it hardly bothered me. Hair is just hair. That is not to say I didn’t have an emotional reaction to my hair falling out in my hands. I did. I sobbed in the shower — but over the reality of what was happening to my body more so than the loss of my hair. Now my hair is the longest it has ever been but, still, I am not all that attached to it. If it accidentally got chopped off, I’d just get a new style. And…
