Hair, hair, hair, hair...hair

"Gimme a head with hair, long beautiful hair
Shining, gleaming, streaming, flaxen, waxen

Give me down to there hair, shoulder length or longer
Here baby, there momma, everywhere daddy daddy"

In all these months, I've never had a moment of missing my hair.  I save 45 minutes in the morning - which translates directly into 45 minutes extra sleep, or 45 minutes extra chatting with Ken, having coffee or watching the news - by not having any hair.  I throw on a color-complementary scarf or wrap or hat and walk out the door.  Sometimes, I go nekkid and topless - so easy-peasy that I have conspired to shave my head long after my hair wants to grow back.

No shampoo, no conditioner, no hot oil treatments, no leave-in conditioners, no blow-drying, no curling, no flat ironing, no hot rollers, no brushing, no combing, no ponytails, no headbands, no clumps of hair in the bathroom drain.  The most I do is swipe a lint roller over my head to pick up any stray stubble falling out.

"Flow it, show it, long as God can grow
 My hair

Let it fly in the breeze and get caught in the trees
Give a home to the fleas in my hair
A home for fleas, a hive for buzzing bees
A nest for birds, there ain't no words
For the beauty, the splendor, the wonder of
My hair"

In all these months, I never noticed other people's hair.  Last week while waiting in line at the grocery story I found myself staring rather intently (and probably inappropriately) at the woman two lanes over - at her hair.  A beautiful brownish-reddish color, an adorable bob haircut shorter in the back than in the front, sideswept bangs, so smooth and straight and full and beautiful.

For the first time that I can remember - I missed my hair.

"I want it long, straight, curly, fuzzy, snaggy, shaggy, ratty, matty
Oily, greasy, fleecy, shining, gleaming, streaming, flaxen, waxen
Knotted, polka-dotted, twisted, beaded, braided
Powdered, flowered, and confettied
Bangled, tangled, spangled, and spaghettied"

Now I find myself not only noticing, but taking note of, other people's hair.  I think, "I've always wanted to try that style," or "Maybe I should consider buying a flat iron" or "A new hair dryer - I deserve a new hair dryer!"  I comment to friends about their beautiful hair:  "That style looks so great on you!" or "I love your new color," or "Your stylist is fantastic!"  I argue with and scold the lint roller as it at is pulls little strands of dead hair out of my follicles, as though those hairs will ever amount to anything (they're dead, they cannot grow, but they're still hair).

My friend asked me today why I don't wear either of the two wigs I have (one generously donated by the ACS, the other a very inexpensive wig I purchased before I started treatment).  Horrified, I turned to her and said, "Oh my god, because they look like wigs!!!"  Which is true - both of them look fake, they make me look like I'm wearing a wig, and while I get a good laugh out of them (and my grand-daughter enjoys playing dress-up with them), I find myself actually quite sad when I pull them on my bald head.  They aren't horrible wigs; I will share them with someone else who can use them and will appreciate them.  But I thought I was okay without hair and didn't need it, or the wigs, and so they still sit in their boxes in my closet.

While some of my BC sisters are experiencing hair regrowth during this part of chemo (Taxol), it seems to be those receiving the drug every week.  I don't know if it's because my dose is "dense" (twice the amount every two weeks) or because my body is not ready, but my hair is not yet returning.  In fact, my hair continues to shed:  I have exactly one eyelash left, on my right eye, and every day I lose three or four eyebrows, to a point where they're almost gone.  I have a little bit of "duck fuzz" on the back of my head - tiny white hairs trying to grow back in, but I noticed dozens of them on the lint roller after last week's treatment.  I may just have to wait until after my final treatment before I hold out hope for the return of my hair.

But my hair will return.  And I will be so glad when it's back.  I'll happily give up that extra 45 minutes in the morning to be able to style it, to grow it, to cut it, to clean it out of the drain, to feel Ken's fingers running through it.

I'll even be glad to shave my legs again.