I had Ryan shave my head last night.
It might have been the bravest I’ve ever been, or the most foolish. I’m not sorry today, so I guess that seats me in the former category. It had been falling out in clumps and looking more and more thin and wiry every day, and I knew I had to make a decision.
It’s amazing how much hair a person has. I have (had?) thick hair and didn’t appreciate until now what that really meant.
I lost a lot of hair. It just seemed to keep coming, more and more every day. Every day, I hoped that somehow it would stop, because there’s just no way a person can lose that much hair, but by yesterday, there was almost no hair left on my head.
Yesterday was a low point for me, in a lot of ways, and waking up to find such huge patches missing didn’t improve my outlook. So last night, I told my husband to take it off. I was expecting tears on my part, but none would come. I was ready to let it go.
There’s something wonderful about knowing exactly what you’re doing and not being afraid. It’s strange, how natural a decision it was. When it was over, I ran my hand over my head, and realized that I was touching a part of my body I hadn’t really touched before.