The Hair

Both my mother and father have thick, luxurious hair. It doesn't thin, and it didn't really start to gray until they hit their late fifties. Since then, it's been more of a gradual frosting than a graying.

In volume, it's almost too much hair, actually. Without regular haircuts, Dad can start to look a bit insane; a cross between Einstein and the Unabomber, perhaps. Fortunately, Dad's obsession is more with chainsaws than with nuclear physics and blowing things up. So far, this has worked out just fine for the world.

Mom keeps her hair styled just right, so she always looks fabulous. Like Annette Funicello, perhaps. Though Annette died of MS complications at age 70, it looks like my mom is going march past that landmark in good condition. My dad, a county full of farm cats, my sister, and I are quite thankful for that.

It's no surprise that I inherited the genes for thick hair. Like my dad, if I don't get regular haircuts, I start to look crazy. Amongst friends, my hair is a running joke. After a few beers, they've been known to grab hold and tug to see if it's real. When the hair doesn't pop off, laughter ensues.

Now, three weeks after my blast of stem cell-mobilizing chemo, my hair is frazzled and starting to fall out. I knew this would happen, so it's not a shock. But it is still a bit unnerving to watch my best physical attribute now starting to plug the bathtub drain. It may be an illusion, but I'm convinced that the follicles actually hurt.  I'm also hesitant to look in a mirror. Grandpa's stories of sheep dying of a heart attack after being sheared creep forward from the back of my mind. He loved telling the tale of a sheep who thought it was a dog and was shocked on shearing day.

But I'm not a sheep or a dog. Just a guy with hair falling into my computer keyboard. It's 10 below zero outside, and I should probably go get a cheap buzzcut at the local stripmall, then maybe get a stylish hat.

If any hair survives into January, it will be fully obliterated by a much higher dose of chemo in mid January. God and science willing, my new immune system will be functioning by early February. The hair should start to grow back by May. More importantly, my MS will be stopped and my walking can start to improve. Leaning on walls and furniture is getting old.