Me and my hair: Never can say goodbye

Oh, my hair, my hair. Scraggly, limp, lank, stubborn. Even on my wedding day, after 60 minutes with the hot rollers and the curling iron and the can of hairspray and the hordes of hidden bobby pins, it collapsed like a bad soufflé on the five-minute trip from salon to venue, so the only ones who got to see it in all its poufy glory were me and the stylist.

My hair has always been like a no-goodnik boyfriend. You know you should give him the heave-ho, but when you finally make up your mind, he figures out which way the wind is blowing and gets all sweet and solicitous and you remember what you saw in him in the first place and just don’t have the heart to go through with it.

Whenever I start thinking it’s time for a drastic haircut, it manages to pull itself together and transform into little waves and tendrils that curl adorably. “Why can’t you be like that all the time?” I scold it. “We could have such a good relationship if you would just always act exactly the way I want you to act.”

That line of reasoning never worked on boyfriends either.

Now that its days are numbered, my hair has perked up remarkably. It practically does tricks every morning to prove how cute and cooperative it will be if I just let it hang in there. And I’d be glad to comply, since I really don’t think I’m gonna rock the bald look, but it’s not up to me.

Adriamycin causes hair loss 14 to 21 days after treatment. Cytoxan, my other current chemo drug, causes hair thinning. Some people’s hair doesn’t completely fall out on those two drugs, but they get a patchy look. Taxol, the chemo drug I’ll be getting in December and January, causes hair to fall out completely, sometimes overnight.

I’ll be bald for Halloween.

It doesn’t ring the same chimes as "I’ll be home for Christmas," but it does open up a world of costume ideas: Capt. Picard, Dr. Evil, Mr. Clean, Uncle Fester.

Hmm, all men. Who are the famous bald chicks?

Sigourney Weaver in “Aliens” and Natalie Portman in “V is for Vendetta” – but they didn’t have any distinguishing characteristics other than their bare pates that would sell a costume.

I’m now on day 15 after my first infusion, and so far I haven’t felt the tingling scalp that’s supposed to precede hair loss. But I want to be prepared with a wig for when I need to pass as normal, especially when I have to interview strangers for work or hit the grocery store without getting pitying looks. Luckily it’s almost winter, when I wear a hat every day anyway.

This chemo round induced the same malaise as the last time. The night after treatment I woke up nauseous at 3 a.m. and never got back to sleep but eventually the drugs quelled the nausea. Today I still feel under the weather, but am getting antsy that I need to venture out wig shopping.





Me and my hair. Truth to tell, I haven’t really tried that hard. We’ve stayed trapped in the ’70s for lo these many decades now. My high school graduation photo has the exact same long limp locks look as my Facebook profile pix. How sad is that?

So this is a chance to explore new turf. Goldilocks, Rapunzel, Little Orphan Annie. Angelina or Jennifer. Punk, professional, artiste, ingénue, sexy siren – it’s time to meet the new me.