bald.

I've pretty much had the same hair style, with exceptionally slight modifications, my entire life. My hair is brown- like a squeaky, nut-brown; fine- loads of it, but exceedingly thin strands; curly- in my teens and early twenties, compliments of continual perms, and then wavy after that. And that is the extent of the adventures in my hair up until my 40th birthday. When I turned 40, I decided to take the plunge and color my hair, forgoing color in which bleach had to be used. So, I got my hair colored the darkest dark brown with red wine ends and bangs. I still color it today, and it suits me. I ventured once with an a line hair style, which I suppose was ok...seemed a little naked for me. I don't like my hair very long, and I have tried to grow it long because I love long, beautiful locks, but it makes me waaayyy too hot. I also have an overwhelming disdain for the shape of my neck, so putting my hair up is absolutely out of the question. I keep the length to about the top of my shoulders.

I have never really made a big fuss about my hair. I can easily throw on a hat if my hair is not cooperating on any given day. My hair has always been dependable. Failry boring, but there, and dependable. Until the day it wasn't. I had started to notice clumpy pieces of hair on my pillow, and the ease with which it was coming out when I blew dry it, or ran my fingers through it. I dismissed it to perimenopause., and lamented about it casually with my friends. Simultaneously, I observed my nails had changed and were exhibiting dents and ridges. I woke up one morning to a sore- to touch- spot on my scalp, on the very top of my head. So, naturally, I couldn't resist touching it, and in doing so, I ascertained that it was also somewhat prickly. I went to the mirror where I found a round-ish white bald spot glaring back at me. A certifiable asymmetry quarter size bald spot. I felt around it, and when I removed my hand, several strands of hair came with it. I ran my hands through my hair a few times more, each time producing a small premium of my hair in my hands. The next few days, one spot turned into two side-by-side sports, which didn't take long to merge into one large, garish lemon size bald patch. A third oval shaped spot appeared on the back of my head, followed by another nickel sized blotch on the other side of my head. My hair now seemed to be everywhere except in my head. My hair would free fall when I was cooking, onto the counter, the sink, in food... it was on my pillow case, sheets...all over my bathroom- the floor, sink, tub, masses of it in my brush... in my car- on the seats, in the cup holders, on the floor... My hair was fleeing my head as if it were in a race to get to the finish line of some incredibly competitive, invisible marathon. It seemed to want to be anywhere else than on my scalp. I became despondent not knowing what was happening as I watched the the bald patches grow into wide gardens of whiteness. My naked swaths of scalp were painful to the touch.

Of course, I googled. I discovered what I was dealing with, though not the extent of it, or why. The excruciating wait for the first available appointment at my dermatologist’s office wasn’t helping my uneasy, overactive, anxious mind as I continued to deal with my hair departing with my scalp on a daily basis.

Officially, I was diagnosed with Alopecia- an autoimmune disease that attacks my own hair follicles, and as turns out, my nails, too. There are a few different types of Alopecia, mine being Alopecia Areata. ‘Alopecia’ is the medical term for bald. 'Areata' means patchy. This patchy baldness can develop anywhere on the body, including the scalp, beard area, eyebrows, eyelashes, armpits, inside your nose, or ears. There are no medications for it, and no cure. There is not really a known cause other than a misguided immune system that tends to attack its own body. There are remedies that may or may not work. I began a once monthly regimen of steroid injections in my scalp. Prior to treatment, my dermatologist delivered grim statistics about the effectiveness of the injections, accompanied by the fact that there was no guarantee of the steroids working at all, whatsoever. She suggested taking over the counter Allegra, as it has shown positive results in Japan that support healthy hair re-growth. She also advised me to use Rogaine, in the foam form, applying it directly to my bald scalp areas. The plan was to employ the three of these band-aid fixes together to give me the best fighting chance for hair re-growth. There was something else I needed to know. Even though we were treating the current bald spots with these methods to try to stimulate new hair growth, there was the very real chance (or rather, "likelihood" she said) that additional, new bald spots could continue to pop up. Still further, she continued, often times when new growth does emerge, the hair grows in white.

We began the the counter-attack. Out of the gate, my head seemed capable of putting this into perspective. "This is just. hair. This is not a serious illness threatening your health or your life." My heart along with my ego, (enter Vanity) needed some serious nudging, a great deal of convincing that this wasn't a crisis. Alopecia is clearly a physical struggle, but what I wasn’t prepared for was the formidable mental struggle it poses. Aging is difficult enough without throwing this in the mix. Hair symbolizes physical strength and virility; the virtues and properties of a person, of a woman in particular, are said to be concentrated in her hair. It is a symbol of instinct, of female seduction and physical attraction. Some cultures believe that hair is an extension of your spirit or soul… your aura. In a society that favors beauty and youth, and values luscious locks, losing my always-there-dependable-hair was alarming, disturbing, harrowing. Scholars, psychics, and beauty buffs agree, the hair on your head (and what you do with it) is pretty powerful. Now what?! What was my aura going to say about me? How was I ever going to accept that this was happening to me? Vanity roared in loudly, stretched her far-reaching feathers, situated herself, and sat up defiantly on her perch. She wasn't leaving anytime soon, and she was flagrantly displeased with this newcomer that had taken up residence in our body. Believe you me, she is a fierce opponent, Vanity.

Perhaps knowing exactly what to expect and when to expect it would help somewhat in dealing with this weird, random phenomenon that is Alopecia. Evidently that is too much to ask because it is non-existent in this circumstance. The unpredictable erraticism of it all makes it even more overwhelmingly difficult to grasp. There is no rhyme or reason. Will today be the day I wake up with another bald spot? Will it just be one? Or more? Where will they be? Will I be able to hide it with my existing hair/style? Will one bald spot lead to another, and then another, creating a giant bald crater on my scalp? Will I lose all of my hair? The visceral roller coaster of emotion is harsh. How do you fight something that you can never see, hear, or know when it is coming? How do you boot Vanity and her brazen, badgering self-absorption out on the street? Not to mention, Depression, (which is a separate blog post for another day) who is often a stable, stubborn tenant in my mind. How was I going to really, fully, get myself aligned with this new medical affliction I was now going have to manage and live with for the rest of my life?

I sat with myself and this diagnosis for long periods of time, intentionally, thinking about best case, worse case, and everything in between. I methodically considered how I was going to protect my psyche, which I knew was where the real work was going to come. I scoured through literature and absorbed all of the information I could about Alopecia Areata. I invested in some new, cute hats, which wasn’t an arm twist at all since I am very at home in hats. In fact, I love hats. At one point, I resided to wearing hats every day, which feasibly I could do, I thought. I researched wigs. I was prepared to invest in a couple of wigs if it should come to that. Still though, I would have to take my hat off, and take my wig off at the end of the day, and climb into bed with my baldness- in whatever form it was going to be. Yes, that self-love concept…Wherever you go, there you are.”

There was a third pesky occupant in my mind that started tugging at me early on when I discovered the very first bald patch. I didn’t know what it was, but it was there, and I didn’t pay much attention to it; or rather, I didn’t want to pay attention to it. I wanted to listen to Vanity and Depression and the conversations they were having about not only the fate of my hair, but the overall doom in store for me. I pushed that particular inhabitant, whatever it was, out of my mind, in favor of the other two occupants. Now though as I pondered how to forge ahead with this strange disease, I understood what had been nagging at me all along…

From the moment my kids were able to understand diversity, and injustices of the world- like judgment and condemnation of people for variations in their skin color or appearance, or for distinctions different than our own, or even disfigurements- I flooded their little minds with the doctrine that nothing matters except what is in someone’s heart. Beauty comes from within. It always has and it always will. Nothing else matters. The definition of ugly is meanness, prejudiced, bullying, close-mindedness, hatred, discrimination, conceit, cruelty. Beauty comes in all different sizes, shapes, forms; and by definition beauty is kindness, love, inclusion, tolerance, altruism, gratefulness, self worth. Beauty is intrinsic. …I sat still, breathed in, and breathed out, “IT IS JUST HAIR." The important things are in tact- my overall health and my family's health. What matters is who I am, not how I look. Vanity and Depression ducked down and snuck out the back door. I won’t lie and say that they don’t stop back in every now and again for a cup of coffee, but they do not stay. They do not take up residence in my head any longer on the account of my Alopecia Areata. If I lost all of my hair tomorrow, which I am prepared could happen at any given moment, they still will not bunk here.

I feel fortunate to say that I did not lose my eyelashes or my eyebrows. I experienced success with the steroid injections, which stimulated new hair growth. New hair sprouted up in each previously bald spot, and it was brown. My hair stopped coming out in droves. Over the course of nine months, my hair filled in. My co-workers and family and I chuckled at the different stages of the growth, which stuck up, stuck out, poked through, blew shamelessly in the wind, or just...didn’t move, depending on the stage of growth it was in. Today, a year and a half later, I have a small bald spot on the back of my head that I just recently discovered as a result of searching for it when I began seeing strands of my fallen hair in all the usual places. I feel the familiar tingling in my scalp that I didn’t know then was an indication that a patch was about to pop up. Gratitude, Acceptance, Inner-Peace, and Self-Love laugh loudly together, almost as if daring Vanity and Depression to make an appearance.

Ii is just hair.