So, I’m losing my hair. Call in the Marines, the Army, the Navy, the Air Force, The National Guard. Come on people, let’s mobilize! This is bad, very bad, I’m declaring it a disaster of epic proportions. OK, so I may be a little overly dramatic, but this is my hair we’re talking about! Whether it’s because of the drugs I’m on or the malnutrition that the Crohn’s disease is causing, I have no clue. I don’t really care why it is happening, I just HATE that it is. Any woman, or man for that matter, who has experienced this can tell you that it can be frustrating and depressing. I would say that I’ve probably lost at least half of my thickness which, let’s face it, was never really stellar to begin with. It’s pretty pathetic when you can see the wall behind you through the thinning locks at your shoulder. Every time I take a shower I notice bigger and bigger handfuls coming out while shampooing. I’ve started to see it on my pillow in the morning and Greg has mentioned that he feels he might be drowning in the hair balls I inadvertently leave about the house. Seriously though, let’s look at the difference. The picture on the left is my hair a few years ago, long and naturally curly. The picture on the right is all that I’ve got left of that… so sad!
Ugh! Seriously this is getting a bit ridiculous. I mean loosing my hair is feeling a bit like someone is kicking me while I’m down. No… I’d say more like straddling me while sucker punching me after I’ve already been dealt the final blow of the match. So, let’s do what I do best, tongue in cheek. Better yet, get your tongues ready and on the count of three let’s all put them in our cheeks together as you read about my thoughts on this latest development. Tongues at the ready? One… Two… Three… Go!
As I was combing the last five hairs I have left I thought, “Hmmmm I should really get a hair cut, these five hairs are looking a little sad and damaged.” The quandary? What happens when you cut the only five hairs you have, will it look worse? I mean when you only have five hairs to speak of you tend to be a little over protective of them. You start thinking it might be better to let those sad little hairs keep their split ends. Don’t laugh, but I’m trying to grow my hair out as well in a desperate attempt to hold onto any femininity I have remaining. My great-grandmother once mistook me for her grandson when I had my hair back in a french braid. Ok, she was practically blind at the time, but it has stayed with me and I have this enduring complex that I look boyish with short hair or when it is pulled back. Add that to the fact that I’ve lost a significant amount of weight due to the Crohn’s disease which, of course, means that my chest is a bit smaller. By a bit smaller let me just say a full two cup sizes less and I didn’t have very much to begin with. Well… training bras here I come and bring on the “She looks like a boy” comments. Go ahead, I can take it!
After a heated debate with myself I said, “Self? You might as well cut those poor hairs before they break off and die.” So I decided to go for a haircut after all, might as well keep those last five hairs healthy and happy if I have any hopes of them sticking around for a while. I wouldn’t want to tick them off and send them running so I figure I’d better give them some tender loving care. I did, however, draw the line at paying someone $40 to $50 at a salon to spend less than five minutes trimming said hairs. Instead I opted for one of those dollar cut joints. I walk in without an appointment and the girl at the counter gives me a look that says, “Clearly I’d rather be anywhere but here…” Add to that the fact that because she looks so young I’m wondering just how long she’s actually been doing this and I could practically hear the hairs on my head squeal in fright! Oh well, what damage could she possibly inflict seeing as I wasn’t going to ask her to do anything but a quick trim of my thin wisps.
So with a small burst of bravery I allow her to lead me to the hair washing basins. Exactly two minutes later she has shampooed, conditioned, and toweled my hair dry. At which point I’m thinking that this gal is certainly going to get paid much more than this haircut will be worth. Oh well, my five hairs are wet and ready for their big moment. To her credit my hairdresser made a valiant effort when it came to the trim. You know how they divide your hair into sections and then take those sections in layers? Well she at least attempted to do that but I must say it was just pathetic. I kept wanting to say something like, “I realize there isn’t anything there so you might as well just take your scissors to it and be done, but thanks for trying.” You know it is bad when they pull out their blow dryer and less than a minute later say to you, “Well… um should I style it or…” To which I reply, “As long as it’s dry…” The entire visit took all of 10 minutes, two of which were her valiant attempts at dividing my hair into layers to be cut. At least I didn’t have to make small talk with a perfect stranger for a half hour while pretending I actually had any hair left worth cutting.
To her credit my young hair stylist didn’t say a word… not a single word until she asked if I wanted her to style it. At first it felt awkward but then I was secretly relieved. I always found it disturbing that while getting your hair cut you’re expected to share your life story with someone who probably doesn’t really want to hear it anyway. Why is it that we spill our guts when in the salon chair? It’s probably because we feel that we should be extra nice to the individual with the scissors chopping mercilessly away at our hair. I mean who wants an angry hair dresser, right?!?
As I left her chair I looked down at my pitiable, teeny tiny, little pile of cut hair. She didn’t have to sweep up after me; I noticed she just kind of brushed it aside with her foot on our way to the checkout counter. My, oh my, what I wouldn’t give for just a few more hairs. Am I asking too much when I want a decent size pony tail? Maybe I should just shave it all off and go for a wig. Extensions maybe? I never thought I’d be thinking I’d like a little more hair. I’ve always been the “no maintenance hair” kind of girl. In the past I bemoaned the fact that I had too much hair to handle and so I’d just put it in a bun and go. I never in my wildest imagination figured that one day I would want that hair back…
Who’d a thunk it? I suppose I’m pretty vain about my hair after all. I’d never thought of myself as a vain individual but I’m telling you, when it comes to my hair I am feeling pretty conceited! Who knew? I’m not even ashamed to admit it. I’m suffering from hair vanity and lack of hair depression. You’d think that with everything I’ve got going on and going wrong that my hair would be the least of my worries, but no, I miss it… A LOT! So I started searching the online forums for DIY, at home hair remedies because if you recall I refuse to empty my wallet for a salon treatment on five hairs (well four and a half now that they’ve been trimmed.)
The first remedies I went for were those that could be concocted from items in your kitchen. The one that appealed to me most, or I should say seemed easiest to put together, consisted of egg yolks, water, and coconut oil. So I proceeded to whip up my magic hair potion and then apply it to my scalp as directed. It became immediately obvious that the proportions were all off. I should have taken into account that the “recipe” would need to be cut in half to account for my lack of hair. Truth be told it should have been cut in fourths but that would require my using half of an egg yolk and, well, I’m not much good at dividing egg yolks so… there I was with too much potion and not enough hair. *sigh* Ah well, on with the show!
The instructions suggested leaving the mixture in your hair for a few minutes before washing it out with cool to warm water. After all, you wouldn’t want to scramble the egg with a nice hot shower. All was proceeding according to plan. There I was standing in my shower with a really disgusting mixture of coconut oil, egg, and water running down my face and shoulders. Not being one to waste time I thought I’d be productive and shave my legs while waiting for this miracle cure to work its magic. So maybe this wasn’t the best idea. I mean think about it. Hair potion running into your eyes whilst wielding several sharp blades equals disaster. Now I’m bleeding all over the place and the bottom of my shower looks like a war zone covered in egg, oil, water, and blood. The irony is not lost on me either, I’ve just cut myself to shreds trying to get rid of the hair my legs. While the reason I’ve cut myself to shreds is because the magic concoction meant to restore the hairs on my head is running into my eyes. At this rate I might as well let the hairs on my legs grow out and then transplant them onto my scalp. Why not?
Time to wash this ghastly mixture out of my hair. All is going according to plan… NOT! Instead of helping me keep and grow more hair I’m steadily loosing additional hair. Big handfuls of my hair are coming out with the magic hair potion. It was so bad I could feel big clumps of hair traveling down my back, onto my legs, and landing at my feet. I started sobbing because now I’m down from four and a half hairs to like… two. Several minutes later I’m standing mournfully staring into my overly large bathroom mirror and trying not to panic. I’ve used the blow dryer on my hair for about thirty seconds and have found that at least the two remaining hairs are soft and shiny.
So “Hair today, gone tomorrow…” Let’s have a moment of silence for the hairs I’ve been washing down the drain of late. They will be missed more than they know. They were good hairs, the very best, the kind you’d want to flaunt in public. Alas they are MIA and though I hold out hopes of their safe and eventual return I’m determined to move on. The need for ponytails and barrettes are a thing of the past. Don’t cry for me missing hairs, the truth is you’ve already left me, all through my protests, my constant moaning, I’ll stop complaining, don’t keep your distance… Oh my, I’ve broken into song. My apologies to Andrew Lloyd Weber and the past and current casts of Evita around the world for adulterating that chorus.
I’m done ranting… for now. You may all remove your tongues from your cheeks now, thank you for joining me I’m off to search for my missing hairs. Stina out!