Note: I am posting this on the final day of Ovarian Cancer Awareness Month. I do not have cancer, but find myself affected by the disease of my ovaries, as so many other women do, every day. And all of this brings us closer to risk.

I stepped gingerly out of the shower.
48. 49. 50.
I combed my wet hair.
64. 65. 66.

After the water spun down the drain, I glanced at the tub floor. My throat closed up. So many strands of hair.

I lost the most hair since my diagnosis two months ago, even though Id been on medication. The panic began to rise. And my eyes welled up. I swallowed, blinked and continued my post shower routine. It was Saturday, I was meeting a friend, and no how much life shocks you, you have to press on.

For over a year I had experienced an odd combination of symptoms. Hair loss, (the medical term is shedding) was only one of them. I tried everything to lose weight, but nothing changed. Teenage breakouts spread over my chin. My cholesterol mysteriously rose over 75 points. But the scariest symptom of all was that my period had slowed to barely a trickle. One day it just peace’d out. What was happening to me?

I went to doctors. Several. Is your life stressful, they’d ask. Well duh, I live in New York. Every day is stressful. Work is stressful. Relationships are stressful. But nothing out of the ordinary. They told me to lose weight. They told me to do yoga. They told me to get away and relax. I did all those things. Then the hair shedding started and progressively got worse.

Finally, in the spring, my aggressive online hypochondriac searches of symptoms paid off. I found a new gynecologist and told her to take a peak at my ovaries. Every searched led the symptoms to PCOS or polycystic ovarian syndrome. Again, the doctor told me that it was just stress and that I was wasting my time, but ordered a sonogram. The wand showed us numerous cysts around my ovaries. I was right.

For two seconds I was relieved. Then the panic washed over me. What did this mean?

The doctor assured me it was extremely common, but that there wasn’t a lot they could do for it. I was already taking birth control, so more hormones were unnecessary. I could go to a dermatologist for my hair problem. I needed to eat healthier. That was really it. I was sent on my way.

I felt broken. My ovaries were held captive in little cages of cysts. Having a baby in the future could be difficult they said. Fortunately thats never been a top priority to me, but having that possibility, as a woman, taken away, was crushing and seemingly unfair. I felt lost.

Yes, hair is a cosmetic thing. For years I've tried to straighten and wrangle it into something it wasn’t. Perms and potions and chemicals to color and straighten and change who i was. I’ve always had a ton of hair. I hated going to the salon because it took at least a half hour to style and dry. Now? I was grasping onto whatever strands I could. My hair is part of who I am. My representation. Who would I be without it?

I’m now afraid to get my haircut. I fear the stylist’s reaction when 100 strands comb out out or go down the drain. I don’t blow dry my hair straight anymore for fear it will shed more strands and cause breakage. My doctor said no dying it (my grays!) until we stop the shedding, which signals growth. (Update—I did get my hair cut a few weeks ago, by a very sweet and patient stylist. It was only mildly traumatic as the light showed how thin my hair was getting, but looked beautiful when done. She also assured me that I only needed to get my hair cut every 5 or 6 months, which left me with relief.)

I’m afraid of dating, because I do not feel as beautiful or healthy anymore. What guy would want a gal with thinning hair and some busted ovaries?

Im 35 and taking a blood pressure medication which contains a hormone blocker. I now apply a special topical Rogaine—something I had once only considered for middle aged men. I go to the dermatologist weekly to sit under laser lights and have my scalp injected with cortisone over 500 times a session. I’m ashamed to tell my close friends about it, so here we are. All of this to keep this part of me. Which is important to me.

So be thankful, every time you take a shower or brush your hair, that you don’t have to live in fear of what you’ll find in the drain. It may seem superficial, but when your body takes over, you’ll do anything you can to find a sense of control again.