I got together with two of my college friends late last year. They had both moved out of town, one for school and the other for work, and while we all kept in touch this was the first time we had all been together since grad. My one friend J had mentioned earlier how she had inexplicable lost about a dime-sized patch of hair on her head. Strange. When I saw her though the patch had grown to be a little bit bigger than a quarter. But no big deal. After that she visited doctors and naturopaths, endured needles to her scalp and other methods of treatment.
About a week ago she texted us saying: “My mom is here. She came to take me to my horrible specialist appointment today where the doctor said I for sure have alopecia and there is nothing I can do to stop it. I cried at the appointment and in the street and at Milestones but then my mom fed me lots of wine and spinach dip and cheese and got me a really pretty jacket. Woohoo moms! So I might just shave my head instead of waiting for it to fall out and watching it get thinner and thinner?”
I had no idea it had progressed. She said she had 12 patches now. She went on to say: I am not my hair! I really like it though, but I don’t need it!
I was so happy to hear her say that. When I cut my hair it was a change for me. A shift. But my hair grew back. So not being in control, knowing after you cut your hair, it won’t come back entirely: that takes some mental adjustment for sure. She always has my support and she is going to be gorgeous with her hair or without because it won’t change who she is. She’s still the same beautiful, hilarious, quirky woman she has always been and for that I’m thankful. But I hope on days when she’s not feeling so pretty, that she still smiles because she is not her hair.