Bald IS Beautiful

It's an odd occurence when something so heavily impacts on your life in such ways that it's impossible to explain it to anyone effectively and then someone, something comes along, and all of a sudden - you're not alone anymore.


Robin Roberts of ABC News recently got diagnosed with breast cancer and made the decision to keep a video diary of her journey to air each morning on Good Morning America to share with America the devastating impact that having cancer has.


This morning, Robin Roberts aired a video addition to her diary: a video of her losing her hair, and also a video of her making the conscious decision of shaving it off before it all fell out.

http://abcnews.go.com/Video/playerIndex?id=3869407&affil=wmar

"As hard as it was, I knew what I had to do."

I sobbed uncontrollably while watching the video this morning, and cried just now watching it again. So much of my fear of losing my hair and the empowering feeling that I was left with once I took the plunge and made the commitment to shave my head came rushing back while watching Robin sit there in the chair staring into the mirror at her reflection as the hair was slowly removed piece by piece.

"When I finally did it, I took the power back. Because now I was making the decision instead of letting the cancer make the decision."

I cannot imagine how draining cancer and chemotherapy must be, and how much of your energy and will is tested in a time like that. I am so blessed that my emotional journey ended at just hair loss, rather than the immense physical pain that accompanies surviving cancer.

Going along even more with bald being beautiful - there was a segment about alopecia areata on NBC's local newscast at 5 o' clock news earlier tonight in Baltimore. A woman locally is suffering and wanted to raise awareness.

I have decided for sure that next year I want to put together a fund raiser for alopecia areata awareness. I believe that there is enough advance in modern medicine that with effective funding a cure can be found. I'll keep everyone posted as I slowly begin the process of putting together my first ever public fundraiser.

W.W.S.O'.C.W.?

Since my entrance into the world of 15-minute showers and Chia-pet fuzz, life has been fantastic.

Despite my initial disappointment that the shaved head didn't increase my walking speed just by sheer removal of weight, (hey, you know, hair can be heavy. Weight transfer applies to cars - why can't it apply to humans?) I have had this sudden boost of self-confidence, and feel so incredibly lifted and at ease. At this point, I don't think it will make a huge difference with me whether my hair continues to grow or whether the growth stops here. I feel like I've gained my old-self back and it's such a f*cking amazing feeling.

When I look back at just a few months ago, sitting up at T & S's till the early morning, and being so terribly frightened of losing all my hair, and then I look at the me now, it's like a huge transformation. The thing I was scared of the most in the beginning ended up being the one thing that has placed me back on the high self-esteem map!

So I got this new look, and along with it this encouragement to wear make-up every day. (Where before when I left the house and was feeling lazy I would throw my hair into a ponytail and not worry about my face at all. Maybe if you were lucky you'd see me at around noon taking out my eyeliner and smudging a line in my cubicle mirror with an added finish of lip gloss.)

In addition to the added interest in make-up and experimenting with funky colors, I suddenly realized that my old wardrobe of T-shirts and jeans doesn't jive with this haircut at all.

At this revelation, I find myself asking the age old question:

W.hat W.ould S.inead O'. C.onnor W.ear?

This T-shirt and jeans thing just isn't cutting it. Or perhaps I am just coming up with the best damn excuse ever to reward myself with a shopping spree for new clothes for the new 'do.

I feel like my Chia-pet fuzz is whispering fashionista advice in my ear in the morning.

"No, no, don't wear that God awful two-year old blouse from the Gap...who wears that now? I refuse to look good with that shirt. How bout you try that nice brand new Benetton fuschia cashmere sweater you bought last week? You know I look fabulous in cashmere."

Damn, never knew my Chia-pet fuzz was going to have such great taste in fashion.

My Life as G.I. Jane

I shaved my head on Saturday morning/Friday night. It was one of the most exhilarating things I have done thus far in this past year, so exhilarating that even I was surprised at what an impact it has had on me.

I know that if I had waited to cut it any longer that I probably wouldn't have - or at least I would have put up a good fight. But the fact that it was 3:30 AM or so, and J and I had just gotten home from Fur, and the fact that I was feeling particularly "happy", he just caught me like a deer in headlights.

No sooner had I taken off my "club clothes" and hopped into my PJs was J romping into my room and grabbing his duffel bag.

"You want to cut your hair now?" he asked, holding the bag for his razor in one hand and standing there in my doorway, giving me the look that said he was asking, but knowing full well he was going to cut it anyway regardless of my answer.

"Now? Like, right now?" I asked.

"Yeah, it's best anyways. You can take a shower afterwards since you've been out all night, and then it'll be easier to clean up the hair."

An exasperated sigh ensued, "Okay, I guess you're right."

No sooner had I said okay, J was in the bathroom unzipping and making a lot of racket.

By the time I walked into the hallway and towards the bathroom door, he already had his hair trimmer plugged in and ready to go, all set up nice and neat like a mini barber shop.

He opened up the toilet seat and had me hang my head over the bowl, and I stared at the clear toilet water with suspense as I heard the constant buzz of the hair trimmer in his hand once he clicked it on.

And then it was done. I remember standing up and staring into the bathroom mirror, rubbing my hand over the top, and turning my head left and right to admire his handywork.

Since I have been "G.I. Jane-d" it is like a huge weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. I have found this sense of freedom that I never thought imaginable. Weird, I know - that it would all come from just shaving a bit of hair off, but truly, honestly, it really has opened up this whole new source of positive energy for me.

I guess I never realized (until I shaved it off) how much the remnants of my "old" hair was really weighing me down. It was forcing me to be critical of myself, and forcing me to be judgmental because every time I looked in the mirror, those pieces were a constant reminder of what I used to have.

Plus, the long hair in those random areas matched with the patches of Chia-pet fuzz (that's what I call the little baby hairs that are slowly growing in my bald spots) everywhere was just daunting to look at.

And what's awesome about this haircut? 15-minute showers. 10 minutes to get dressed. I love it. No fuss with the hair, no curling irons, no blow dryers. Me, my fuzzball of a head and a nice outfit. Boom. Done.

I love Dr. B and all but...

I AM SO HAPPY THAT I DON'T HAVE TO SEE HIM (medically, at least) FOR TWO MONTHS!!!!!

How freakin' awesome is that? Once I took the wig off, and showed him how much progress my hair growth has been making - he even said that he was super happy with the Dritho-scalp and the results.

The attending today was kind of a dick. I don't know - it seemed like he would ask me a question and then look more at Dr. B than at me...which kind of irked me a little bit but hey, those attendings can't all be winners!!!

It doesn't matter anyway - the "dick" agreed with Dr. B and I that my hair was definitely growing back and that I should continue on the Dritho-scalp.

Dr. B asked me how long I had been leaving it on for (since the last time they had seen me they told me to try to leave it on for up to two hours). I kind of confessed that I had done some experimenting on my own and had pretty much been leaving it on my head for 4+ hours and just sleeping with a hair cap on my head with the medicine all on my scalp. I figured that it wasn't irritating my scalp to the point of no return, and why not leave it on for the maximum amount to see if it works any faster? I guess it did!! (hehe)

So the end result is: keep doing what I'm doing and they will see me back in two months!! YAY!!!!!!

Day One of Wig-Wearing Under My Belt

I had started to write this blog entry last night after my Chem lab, but a kid whom I had met several years ago during my first year at CCBC grabbed me to start talking. Apparently, he never forgot me, even with a wig on my head.

So yesterday was my first day in wig-wearing glory. The night before was when I had purchased it from the wig store on Taylor & Loch Raven (The one that everyone who I had talked to always raved about.) which turned out to be a very less emotional experience the second time around.

Ever since that first time in the wig shop, I had realized that I wasn't fully ready as much as I thought I was. I don't think that I had fully accepted who I was without the wig, even though I truly thought I had moved on from that, until I hung out at my friend Scott's house a couple weeks ago.

Scott is a DJ. Well, he just started and his first "true" gig was at XS the other night. So I tagged along with a group of people to show some support. After the restaurant closed, we decided to head over to Scott's house to have some food and some mojitos.

This was the first time that these guys would see me the closest I have ever been to being bald. And what was even cooler was that previously that night, when Jolee came to pick me up from my house, I just ran down the steps with no hat on, with nothing to answer the door.

I don't know what compelled me to do that, but I was really glad that I had. I think it was just time. That and a high disregard for not having enough time to put a hat on. Irregardless of what the reasons were behind it, if any, I answered that door with my dome completely exposed.

I think half way through my walk up the steps once they started to follow me into the house it hit me that I was bald and I felt my heart skip a beat. But by that time I had already committed myself - so I just went with it.

It felt so incredibly freeing. I mean I have read so many posts from people talking about how they revealed their bald heads to the world - and how it felt so freeing but I never thought I'd ever feel it to the extent that I felt it. It was like freedom had come to fruition.

So it wasn't any surprise that later on, while at Scott's house, I suddenly just lifted the hat off my head - and sat there on the couch, continuing on my conversation with Godfather Sage - with no hesitation whatsoever.

And that was it - that was the point where I knew it was time to get the wig. I know it sounds sort of backwards really, why would I be getting a wig just now as I am becoming completely comfortable with being bald? Why cover up that free feeling?

Well because when I first went to the wig store that's exactly what I was doing. Covering up my embarrassment. My shame, my horror, my fears, and my sadness. That wig was doing everything that I was too scared to do - to just face my fears and the truth of it all and embrace it. That's why it wasn't time. That's why I was so consumed with sadness and emotional turmoil.

But now that I am free. Now that I know I am comfortable with being bald - just walking around my house, going to sleep, taking out the trash, exercising - now that I know that, I can now go to the wig store and buy that wig because I WANT to, not because I feel I NEED to. A wig is not something a person should NEED. It should be something a person should WANT. And that's what I wanted to feel. That's what made it the right time for me. Because I knew at that point, the wig wasn't going to hide anything that I hadn't already come to accept. The wig is my play time, my fun time... it is my ability to express that inner crazy self that leaps out in so many other ways - why can't wig wearing be one of them, too?

Plastic Heads

I went to the wig shop last night for the very first time. My father and I were in the neighborhood of the one that people kept suggesting to me, so I decided to have him drop me off to check it out while he went grocery shopping.


As I walked through the doors, for no reason at all, I choked up. I'm still not quite sure where that came from - I didn't realize how nervous I was subconsciously until I immediately was faced with rows and rows of plastic heads covered with wigs.


It was overwhelming, and almost like walking through a Halloween store for me. None of them looked like me. I kept reminding myself that this wasn't for a costume anymore, this was for the real deal. I suddenly realized that I could easily make a wrong decision and it might end up looking hideous and ridiculously out of place on my head. I also suddenly realized that maybe I wasn't as ready as I thought I was, emotionally.

I don't know how to explain this to anyone so that they might fully understand. There are plenty of people out there who buy wigs; according to some of my girlfriends, it is becoming a popular trend among celebrities even. It's not an unusual practice, and just by wearing a wig, it isn't going to mark me as a freak. BUT...

this is new to me.

It didn't matter to me that there were about twenty people already in the store roaming around and trying on extensions and wigs. It didn't matter that they had rows and rows of hair products and a hairstylist section where you could sit down and have the wig shaped and cut to your liking after you had purchased it.

What hit me first was walking past the longer hair wigs. The ones that reminded me of what my hair used to look like. I think that because I have lived with this patchy baldness for the past two months already that I had grown accustomed to how it looks in the mirror. It wasn't until I approached the long haired section that I started to tear up. I touched the frayed ends of what is remaining of my hair now and realized that I almost couldn't remember what it felt like to have long hair. I almost couldn't remember what it was like to pull it back into a ponytail when it got humid and it used to stick to the back of my neck. I used to hate that, and it irritated me to the point of no return.

I would give anything to feel my hair press against my sweaty neck like that now. Anything.

That frightened me. I could barely remember. What did I look like? Why didn't I appreciate it more than I did when I had it? Did I really use to have those wispy bangs? Was I really able to have cute curls at one time? It might seem like I am clinging too much to a painful past, but I know for a fact that I never want to forget what that felt like. What it looked like. Because I know I have to keep the dream alive that I will get back to that girl again, for my own inner strength purposes.

My life seems to be filled with these complicated situations recently where I am flooded with an abundance of mixed feelings and emotions. Wanting and not wanting things, in particular.

A part of me was excited, hopeful, wanting to try every single wig on. The other part of me kept saying it wasn't time yet, emotionally, I just am not ready.

The girl who was walking around spotted me and came over.

"Do you need any help with anything?" she asked, with a smile, "Do you want to look at the wigs?"

"Well, yes, but I don't know where to begin. This is my first time in a wig shop. Do you have human hair and synthetic?"

"Yes, we have both. Human hair is marked with green tags, and synthetics are pink tags," she said, pointing to the rows on the wall.

"What is the main difference between the two, would you say?" I asked, nervously biting my lip. The longer I looked, the more the collection of wigs seemed to grow.

"Human hair can be styled with heat, and curled. The synthetic wigs cannot," the girl said, still smiling.

"Well, I noticed over there while looking at the longer hair ones that they were held on with a comb. Do you think that you have ones with Velcro holders?" I asked.

"The back comb ones? Well all of them come with the Velcro option. You just buy one of the hair wig nets and place them on first and then they connect with the top of the wig," she said picking a random wig off one of the plastic heads to show me.

My eyes widened a little at the unexpected move of how easily she pulled the wig off that plastic head. A minute ago it looked like an Asian woman's head with a nice full head of hair styled with girls, and now the hair lay in between her hands, lifeless. She turned it over to show me the inside.

"Do you see the clip here? You can adjust the inside so that it fits tighter on your head. Like a bra strap," she said as she unhooked the little piece inside of it and moved it over one to the next hook holder.

I nodded, "That's exactly what I was wondering. It's just that I have alopecia ...and I don't think I have enough hair to hold the back comb ones down."

I have gotten used to saying that word. I tried to incorporate it into my vocabulary so I wouldn't choke up anymore at the sound of it.

She nodded and didn't seem affected at all by my blunt statement of my abnormal-ness. What had taken me months to say outright in a few seconds, this girl took as a grain of salt. It's amazing how some stuff works like that.

After a short pause she walked back over and placed the wig back on the plastic head.

"So do you want to try one on?" she smiled.

No, no, no, said the inner me, it's too scary, it's too real. You're bald. You're bald. This is fake hair. Fake.

"Yes," said the outer me.

"Good, I'll be right back with a fresh wig cap," she said disappearing into the back.

In the middle of the wig section was a table and a swivel chair on one side and a stationary chair on the other. On top of the table with a big mirror.

The girl returned with a black sock-looking thing.

"Here," she said handing it to me, "Just put it on your head."

I stood in front of that mirror and slowly removed my hat. In the fluorescent lights of the store, my discolored scalp and bald spots looked red, irritated and enormous. I quickly stretched out the cap and placed it on top of my scalp and tucked in the ends of my hair.

"Alright, please pick out one that you'd like to try," the girl said once she saw the cap on my head.

I still was trying to get used to what I looked like with the black cap on. I turned around and looked up at the rows and rows of wigs.

After a few minutes of staring like a kid in a huge toy store, I looked at the girl with a nervous smile and laugh.

"I have no idea what I like... I want it to look real. I don't want it to look..." my voice dropped off. Mainly because the word I was looking for was 'wig'. Which was unavoidable at this point.

The girl gave me a kind of look. "Well, they are wigs. Just chose the style you want. Have fun with it."

I went to the other side of the plastic heads and stared at the row of mid-length hair pieces.

My eyes caught onto a mid-length black one with brown streaks. It caught my eye because it reminded me of the color of my hair before.

"Can I try that one on?" I asked, pointing to it.

"Of course," said the girl walking over to it already. She leisurely lifted it from the plastic head and motioned for me to sit in the swivel chair in front of the mirror.

I watched as she played with the "bra straps" of the wig on the inside to make it fit my head.

She motioned to the mirror to indicate for me to look into it while she placed the wig on my head for me.

I watched as she stretched the front on first, adjusting the hairline so that it fit on my head in the correct position. She reached underneath and towards the nape of my neck to straighten out the back of the wig.

And then she proceeded to comb it.

It was the weirdest, surrealist feeling I had ever felt before. I almost didn't want to look into the mirror because up to that point I had been staring at the table top.

When I lifted my eyes, I couldn't believe how real it looked. But it wasn't my hair. I shoved that thought into the back of my mind and tried to focus on the wig itself, and how it looked on my head.

At first it felt awkward, but once I started running my fingers through it, I got used to its look. It had wispy bangs, which would need to be cut once I bought it because they kept swiping into my eyes.

"I think it looks perfect on you," exclaimed the girl, standing back as if to admire her handywork.

"You do?" I asked, "you know, I really like it, too..."

But I didn't buy it. I had to sleep on it.

When I got home later on, I sat in my apartment with a glass of black raspberry wine and scribbled for three hours into my journal.

Today, I think I'll go back to purchase it. It's a big step. And even if I go out and buy it, I am not sure when I'd wear it out - whether I'd be comfortable with wearing it out or whether I'd spend the entire night wondering if other people thought I was wearing a wig. Or worse - knew I was wearing a wig.

One step at a time though, right?

Funny how life works backwards...

In the past week since I have started this Anthralin ("Dritho-scalp") treatment, I have begun to see a whole new me. Is it because I now have peach fuzz growing in patches slowly all over my scalp where it was bald before? Possibly.


It's always good to see something good happening. I remember when I noticed the first patch of peach fuzz two days ago, I thought it was dirt (because the anthralin tends to color the scalp brown) but then after washing my hair twice (and losing a ton more hair in the process) I realized that it wasn't dirt - it was the color of peach fuzz - my old black hair, although baby hair fine, growing back. I couldn't believe it. I was siked.


I still am siked. I can't see the back, but from what friends and family members tell me, they can see some growth in the back, too.


But nothing comes without a cost. I have been losing more hair, too. I have almost become completely bald - I mean I still have pieces of my old hair clinging to stay on - but a lot of my scalp is exposed now. It's impossible for me to get away without wearing a hat like I had done before.


And yet, it's funny how life turns things backwards.


In the beginning, as I watched my hair fall out, every single piece of it pushed me farther and farther into this introverted state of mind. I wanted to hide out in a corner. I wanted to crawl under a rock and never see the light of day.


But now, maybe it's because I am seeing growth and for the first time faced with something more solid to have belief in, but now - this morning when I woke up and I washed my hair, and I saw the pieces falling every where, I almost felt more empowered.


I feel the urge to be more extroverted. I feel the urge to just not wear the hat - no matter how odd it looks. And I treat my hair situation as if it is normal. Because eventually, if this alopecia continues in my life, my hair situation will be normal for me. So why not start now?


I do have to admit that it's about time to wear a wig. There are only so many days I can pull off wearing a hat and sometimes it gets uncomfortable and confining. I'd rather be able to not wear the hat and just wear the wig although the thought has crossed my mind that essentially, the wig might not be much better. Essentially the wig is just a hat disguised as hair - and I might feel confined in that, too but at least it's worth a try.


I just don't know of any good wig places.

My Near (almost, not really) Brush with Death

This past weekend was the return of Buzz @ Glow. Of course, we all went. By we I mean: J, me, 'Nard, unni, & Gen Gen. Missing in action? Paul & Est unni. Why? The near brush with death.

The weekend before had been my crazy one and not only was it extremely emotional, but it was also Tiesto Live @ Love...outside. I decided against that due to the extreme cold, and opted for the nice, inside, cozy atmosphere with George Acosta @ Ibiza.

But not before driving by Love to say hello to my brother and Est unni. This is where this all began. She gave me hugs and kisses, as usual and then I went on my way to Ibiza.

Skip to this weekend. Est unni and Paul are all ready to go for Return of Buzz. Everyone is. A day before the event, I feel there is something terribly wrong - Paul hasn't called me back. My brother always calls me back. My clairvoyancy is kicking into high gear and I fear... well I fear something bad is happening.

Paul finally calls me later on and says that Est is sick, but it's probably just a cold and they'll see me for Buzz the next night.

Uhh, yeah. In so few short moments, we see Est, we see Paul, and then Est collapses with chills, Paul thinks she's faking, then Est is rushed to the hospital, and the doctors immediately suspect that it's ("dun dun DUN") meningitis.

They run tests on her, and then to be safe, and for good measure, they toss her butt in the ICU. Guess who's laughing now, my brother? He literally felt TERRIBLE for just prior telling her she was faking it (but in my brother's defense, Esther unni has always sorta... dramatized things before for attention. But only in a cutsey way.)

What do our dumbasses do? We still go out. Party. I mean we bought the nearly $30 tickets ahead of time. Why shouldn't we? And it was not just us - we brought other friends.

The place was packed and it was noisy. Exceptionally noisy. So noisy that even though the music was good, J and I kept looking at each other with the same uncomfortable glance because a massive amount of people were all around us - it reminded me of that time in New York with Gen.

So we left ...called to see how Esther unni was, and she had worsened. They hooked her up to IVs and morphine due to the amount of pain. Paul said that the doctors said that we should all be worried about possibly catching it if we had been in contact with her. Oh, great.

We got home really, super late. I was exhausted. Exhausted from worrying about my sister, and exhausted from all those damned people. J & I collapsed on the bed and passed out for several hours.

When I woke up, I had a fever, my throat was raspy and my nose was stuffy. I started freaking out. Big time. J said maybe it was because I was dehydrated, and to keep drinking fluids and to make sure I ate something.

I ate like a fat kid loves cake...and more. And drank Deer Park like it was going out of style. I kept overheating really fast though. So I ended up forcing myself to sleep all day with no covers, and trying to relax, and think happy thoughts like "no meningitis for me, no meningitis here!"

Paul called me late Saturday and asked if I was okay. I told him my symptoms and he said that I shouldn't worry. But if I do think I have it - to go to the doctor or a clinic and get those two day antibiotics or whatever.

So far, I just have a headache today, and a slight stuffy nose. I know, technically I shouldn't be at work if I think I have it - but I am at this point where I really don't think I do. I read on the internet that the best way to catch it would be through transfer of bodily fluids - and Esther unni and I didn't do any of that. Plus, I think that chills is a big thing that comes with it and I haven't had any chills yet.

So this is Monday. Let's hope for a quick and painless week. BTW, this Dritho-scalp has sorta been working...little pieces of hair growth here and there. We'll see though. My fingers are definitely crossed.

PS. Omgosh, Goose. I've gone through "Dying", "Light of the Moon" and "Cartwheels" and I love them all. Every single song. Some I already had - but most I didn't. I have connected on so many deeper levels to every single lyric in each song. Thank you so much.

HOT DAMN!

Break out the confetti...turn up the volume on the Rocky Theme Song...

Ladies & Gentleman...

I officially went to the gym today

WITHOUT MY HAT!

Although I spent the first 16 minutes of my workout looking around and nervously imagining that people were staring at my head while I was on the stair stepper...I made it through. I toughened up and just focused on making it through the workout, and turned up the volume on my iPod and rocked out to some Montell Jordan. (Yes, some people still rock out to "This Is How We Do It")

It sounds silly, but for me this was a huge step - especially since my haircut yesterday - I suddenly realized how much I was using that ponytail as a cover-up too!!! At least with the ponytail I'd pull it every which way to try and conceal the frontal bald spots - but this time, even though the one was covered, the one that graces my hairline is slightly visible. And I felt vulnerable.

But after a while, I was okay. I just kept my mind off of it. Unfortunately, my entire day-to-day process cannot be ADD-ed into recovery like a 45-minute work out - because I am constantly thinking about it whether I realize it at first or not - but one day at a time. I am just so proud of myself for making it to the gym today. Possibly because I know I'll be hanging at the beach with Mr. John Basedow, Jr. next weekend!

I also want to give a very warm thank you to my friends. You have helped make every single day worth getting up for when I felt there was no other possible inspiration. I know that I can make it through this - and I'll do it with a smile. :-)

Strength Comes in the Number 1

My life story is something of a dramatic movie/book. I can only liken this most recent experience to reading something like "A Wrinkle in Time" or "The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe". Suddenly - something tumultuous happens in your life - knocking your views, your morals, your spirituality every which way - and you're pressed into these situations that test your character.


The difference is that when I am reading the book, I can cheer with full faith for Meg Murraythat she will find the inner strength to get through to the next chapter of the book along with her very different little brother Charles Wallace, or know that in my heart that the children will be able to conquer their fears and their insecurities to help beat the White Witch of the woods. But when it's just me as the character - fighting my own battles, having my character tested - it's much harder to be the third person reading the novel that is cheering me on. I had lost faith a long time ago. I don't have the full feeling in my heart that I can make it through this. Not immediately, anyway.


But I realize now that that is what is going to pull me through this. Number One. Numero Uno. The person in my mirror every morning. Myself. Me.

Today I went to go get my haircut after work. But I was nervous. Terrified, even. So I had made the decision to go to the salon (since it's in the same building as my office) during my lunch hour and take a look at some of the haircut books. I wanted to try and at least have an idea of what I wanted even though I was still so depressed about the subject. I kept thinking all last night that there was no hope for me - that any haircut would be terrible because what I had to work with was so little compared to my thick hair that I used to style. I felt no matter what route I went on - that I would ultimately end up looking like a freak. I had nightmares throughout of me getting my hair cut in a Pixie looking style, and then all of a sudden bald spot after bald spot would emerge, until I eventually lost all of my hair. I woke up in a sweat and panic, wondering if this haircut thing was such a good idea or not.

Just like Meg Murray, I went to face my fears. Walking through those big glass doors of About Faces was a lot harder than I imagined it would be. I was hit with the familiar scent of shampoos and conditioners. I saw the pretty girls walking in in front of me with their long thick wavy hair, their new color and highlights, their perms...I just kept walking towards the front desk and pulled my black cap tighter down my forehead.

"Can I help you?" the girl dressed in black behind the front desk asked.

"Yes, actually. I have an appointment with Tiki today at 5:30 but I wanted to take a look at some of the books first."

"Of course, just follow me..."

Just as I walked past the front desk with the girl, Tiki came from around the corner.

"HEYYY!! Aren't you a bit early?" she asked, all smiles.

"Yeah, I figured I would come and take a look at some books to get an idea for what I want."

"Oh yeah? Do you have an idea of how you want it to look?"

I looked at her enthusiastic face and tried to choke back the tears as I shook my head. Wow, I didn't think talking about it with her was going to be this difficult.

"I don't have a clue, Tiki. I can't even begin to think of possibilities right now. I keep looking at it and see nothing but a hopeless ugly look," I said, pulling my cap off with an exasperated sigh.

She like everyone else only saw the first two.

"It doesn't look so bad..." I pulled aside my hair to part it all the way over to reveal the larger bald spot, "Oh," she continued, "you grew more spots. I don't know what this could be. This is truly puzzling me that it happened so sudden to you," she commented like a mother would.

She guided me over to her chair and offered me some short hair style books that she had. As I sat in her chair, she started to play around with my hair, trying to visualize the possibilities. That's when the tears came.

I couldn't stop them. I felt the tears building up, and saw the rims of my eyes turning red.

"Oh, please don't cry, babe. You'll make me cry."

And that's just what I did. We were both just sitting there crying as I explained to her how difficult this was. She told me she couldn't even imagine.

But then something magical happens. Do you ever feel like sometimes you're in the right place at the right time?

That's how I felt at that exact moment. We sat there in high hairdresser chairs, facing each other, teary eyed - and then Tiki said the most empowering things.


"You know, Em...I think that you should just say fuck it and stop wearing the hats. I know that you still have a while to go yet until you feel comfortable with everything. But once you do, I challenge you to remove the hat and just wear it with pride. Accept it, own it, embrace it full throttle. I am a firm believer that thoughts and feelings and physical things connect at some point. That once you set your foot down and decide not to allow this to rule your life, that hair is going to grow back faster than ever. Fuck what people think. You've already let this consume you. It rules your life now...you think about it constantly. This is a sign for you to take the time and really dig deep into yourself to find you...to be comfortable with yourself. To look in the mirror and not just see the hair - but see that inner beauty that everyone else sees. To see all of the inner qualities that make you such a gorgeous person. Finally, you'll be able to take off that hat and relieve the burden off of your shoulders and put it on other people's. Let them stare if they want to stare. Let them say "eww" as they walk by. If they have a problem with it, that's okay, because you know you won't. You'll be perfectly fine with how you are. Why should you continue to wear hats to help other people feel comfortable? Let them take some of the burden from you...you are a very powerful person. And with great power comes great responsibility. This is your legacy, your thing to leave behind. That no matter what came your way, you were you. You were strong."


At this point, I had stopped crying. I felt so empowered by her words. I don't think I will ever be able to thank her enough. As I left to go back to work, I placed the cap back on my head, but with a new resilence. Knowing that one day, as I mend inner self slowly and gradually day by day, I will take this hat off, and I will proudly accept myself for everything that I am. I did with the Cerebral Palsy. I did with the limp. I learned to be myself despite what other people said or how they treated me. And this is nothing different.


I couldn't wait to get off work to go down and get the haircut started. Tiki had said that my ponytail was long enough to send off to Locks of Love. I made the decision to have my hair donated there. I hope that my hair can help to provide a wig for a cancer patient. Someone who really needs that wig and must be going through an extremely overwhelming amount of pain. Someone I look up to with so much respect and awe.


This is what I walked away with (hopefully it'll go to a good home):

As for me, I can't tell you how liberating it felt to cut my hair off. Tiki stood to the side with her scissors and stared at me in the mirror with a smile on her face.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

"I'm ready," I said. I was more ready than I ever thought I'd be and I think she did a fantastic job. You can't see any of the bald spots!

Today is the big day...

I get my haircut today. And the past day and a half have not been the best way to lead up to this nerve-racking event.

I have all these mixed emotions inside. I have been crying and thinking (alternating each at every hour it seems) over what happened on Monday night. But I have also been so completely nervous and excited for today. At first, I was so happy and so excited thinking that this would be something new, something exciting. A way to jump into a fashion extreme makeover head first.

But then I started thinking about what I had to work with - and I started to worry. Right about now, at this very second, I have this emptiness in my stomach that keeps churning around in my insides. I kept looking last night at that one small bald spot in the very front, where my middle part would land (and has landed since I've been wearing my ponytail). What is Tiki going to be able to do with that?

And last night, when I was putting on the steroid cream, (I always have one hand ungloved to feel for the bald spots in the back, and the other one to administer the cream) I felt three bald spots in the back of my head. To my fingers, they felt huge. I don't know how big they are in real life. I just wish they would grow back in the next 8 hours before I have to go to my haircut.

Because with all those bald spots, how is it going to be feasible to have a nice haircut? Am I risking looking even more like a freak for going today? I already feel like a freak as it is.

I know he says he didn't mean the things he said to me, but God, I really took it to heart. I felt my heart sinking into the pit of my stomach while on the phone with him. I suddenly felt like the biggest freak in the world. It's a bittersweet thing when you allow someone that close into your life that they have that kind of impact on you.

So yes, I am still very mad at him. But I still need a best friend. Especially today of all days. The day when I am scared shitless out of my mind.

Will I still be able to look into the mirror and see the same person staring back at me that I have known for 21 years?

At this point, I don't think I ever will be able to. But one can only continue to hope.

-=EDIT=-

***I did not forget about all of you and that article. For the past few nights, the emotional rollercoaster that I have taken myself on has kind of taken away time from my saved Word document. But I have been working on it. It's probably going to be my longest blog EVER but then again, you guys like having something to read when you're bored, right? :-) ***

Honesty always the best policy?

I don't know what to do anymore. I couldn't sleep all night and now it's morning. I can't even say that we are arguing really because I tried to end it on a semi-good note. Only because that's how I always try to do it - I never like ending anything mad.

But what do you do when someone so close to you has said something so hurtful, and so mean that you don't even know what to say? Should you let it affect your life as much as you have let anything else they have said to you/about you?

Part of me says no, you should keep going on with your life, don't let it get to you. But the other part of me, the part of me that holds compassion and love for this person is telling me to feel so crappy. I feel like I'm no longer good enough to go out into public with anyone.


I will always be his friend, no matter what he has said to me - but it's the initial hurt that hits, and that you can't shake away right away.

Coming to you LIVE, from the world of The Brave...

There has been a lot of stuff going on in the past few days. (However many it has been since my last post. Yes, I have been that busy that I don't even know.)


Let's start with the good news first:



On Monday, I received a call from Ray Noppinger from DORS. You might all remember him from my previous post.

Ray (Mr. Noppinger, after you hear this story, you'll call him Ray, too. Not worth the time spent in saying his formal name.) said that the Driving Workforce and Technology Center had finally called him back sometime last week and he had forgotten to call me when they did.

I waited silently on the phone for him to continue and he took the cue.

"So I spoke with John and he said that you don't need to go through another evaluation. They are going to be able to use the one that you got from Good Samaritan. Now, however, you need to have at least 10 hours of in driving instruction, which is what we talked about the last time you were here. Now, you see, there is that issue of the waiting list - which I told you about last time you were here, too, as I am sure you remember. It is going to be a 6-8 week wait, at most. I am not even sure if I could even tell you if you're on that list or not..."

I stopped him because he kept stuttering silently and repeating himself, "And they will be the ones giving me the driving lessons, then? What is the next step for me to do? I can't handle waiting any longer for this to go through."

"Oh, well I don't know, I just don't know about all that. Actually..." he paused and moved himself from the phone for a second, as if to be sifting through massive piles of paper. I could remember the overwhelming stacks of memos, and letters, and forms all over his desk, so overwhelming that it took him ten minutes to find the forms I needed to fill out while I was in his office.

"Here, you know what I think you should do. I think you should call this woman and find out what is going on over there. I think you should shake things up a bit," he said, as if he came up with the most brilliant idea ever: Hey!! What am I doing working and actually trying to earn a living as an advocate for people when YOU could be doing it for yourself and I could still get paid through the State?

"Me? Are you sure that's okay?" I asked, not knowing whether or not I would even be allowed to contact this Workforce and Technology place.

"Sure, sure here, here's the number."

So I did his job for him. I called over to the Workforce and Technology Center and spoke with the lady at the reception desk.

"Oh yes dear! You're the girl that Ray has been talking about - we called him last week to let him know that you would need the 10 hours of driving practice, but that we still needed a changed authorization form from him. He has never gotten it to us yet," she said. She seemed nice enough, and so I just went on my rant.

I told her how long I'd been waiting for this, how I'd been told that I wouldn't be able to get the driving lessons right away, about that weird cheap-skating woman that I went through the first time. I told her everything.

"Okay, hon, well hold on one second. We were waiting for Ray to send that authorization form but he hasn't, so let me put you on hold for just a second."

That second turned into 15 minutes, and I was at work and sort of getting impatient (feeling that my boss would walk by and write me up for being on the phone but at this point I was not going to hang up this phone).

She finally came back to the phone and said, "Well I just spoke with the driving instructor, and we are not going to require that form. So let's start scheduling, shall we? We don't want you to lose your job."

Okay, so I had told her that if I didn't get some sort of form of transportation that I would lose my job. Sounds a bit dramatic, I know but seriously, I am not joking. If you met my boss, and saw how she treats people and their problems, you would understand. She has no understanding for any issues that come up into my life - mostly because she can't believe that one person who is younger than her (she is 35 or something like that) could be experiencing other life experiences that she hasn't yet. She has that age-is-god complex, where she thinks she is better than me because she is older.

But that is for another post - what is fucking awesome is that I SKIPPED THE LIST!!! They told me that I wouldn't have to wait the time because I already had a job and that I was a higher risk because I had more to lose without transportation.

Should have mentioned that I would lose my sanity if I didn't have transportation soon...although I feel like I have already lost that.

I am so excited. I couldn't believe it while I was on the phone with her. She started rolling off dates and times, and saying that she was placing my name in their scheduling book. Can you believe that??!

By the end of October, I will have that letter that says I have gone through the 10 hours of training with the left foot accelerator. And that letter will then go to the MVA for them to process, and then I will be able to get that restriction taken off... that way I can start to get those 60 hours with my friends and family, rather than some driving instructor.

And the best part about all this? That I don't have to pay! (at least that's what they told me... so let's keep our fingers crossed)

Bad news? I have five more spots on my scalp. It's getting to the point where not even pulling it into a ponytail is helping disguise it. I am almost to the point where I am so frustrated that I have stopped caring. I don't wear make-up anymore, or try to take the time to take care of myself like I used to in the morning. My routine is to wake up, take a shower, clean up all the fallen hair, pull what remains into a ponytail and grab a hat and throw it on my head.

I have made a plan and placed an appointment to go get my hair cut next week on Wednesday @ 5:30 pm. It's at About Faces in my building. I love it there. Before all this started, I would go there to get my hair cut and I felt like Tiki (my hairdresser) really knew what I wanted. I saw her a couple weeks ago when this all first started, and I was sitting downstairs waiting for my ride to get there, right before we went to Shorty's and I had a hat on.

She came up and gave me a hug. Asked me where I had been and what I had been up to. And then she saw. She saw and she then lowered her gaze from my hairline to my eyes and she gave me a big hug.

"Oh, hon, don't worry about it. You're still beautiful and there are things that can be done. There are things out there - wigs, and a haircut can change it all."

Alright Tiki, I am taking up your offer. I am going to cut my hair short for the first time since my sophomore year of high school. We'll see how it goes. I am really sort of excited because it's something to look forward to and it's something new, and I actually will be able to apply the steroid cream on my scalp bald spots a lot better with short hair than with the long hair that always gets in the way.

Well off I go to bed, everyone. Tomorrow is Friday so I hope everyone is getting ready for the weekend!

Aiming to brave that Arirang...

I wrote a post on the forum last night after I wrote my blog. I just had to get it out, had to share my story, had to tell them that I felt just as damn frightened as all of them, and that my fear was fresh and the wound was still bleeding.

It actually was truly relaxing, and therapeutic. I don't know why I keep surprising myself every time I write and find a therapeutic calmness about it - this used to be the way that I got myself through the dark nights before. Just me, a pen and my journal. Didn't even have to be just us either, I'd crouch in a soft couch at a lame house party, a beer in hand or I'd slip into the depths of the study halls at the library and nestle my face into the blank pages of my journals that begged to hear about all my tears and all my struggles.

But regardless, it was a lot more helpful than I thought it'd be. And the people of the group actually responded. One of the women said that I was wise beyond my years, especially for being diagnosed with AA pretty young. They totally understood how I felt, and what I was going through. The denial, the separation anxiety from each and every strand of hair. It's agonizing...they know, they watched every strand of their hair fall out, too. Over the couch, onto the carpet, all over my pillow in the morning, at the bottom of my feet in the shower stall, all across the bathroom. It's like watching your dirty secrets follow you around your house, devastating you at every corner. Letting you know that there is no escape, there is only a time of recognition and submission.

They told me that over the mountain, there is hope. Over the angry slopes - there is a peace, there is a calmness that slips over you in the night - an ability to let your hair slip away, and your ability and strength to say goodbye, and never look back. So I guess that's where I am headed. Over those mountains in the distance...do you see them as clear as I do? Do they glare at you, too?

Your mountain may not be AA, it could be something else. It could be as small as that term paper that is due the first day of school in about two weeks, or it could be simple as that ugly truth that is hanging at the tip of your tongue that you have to say, or it could be as big as deciding what next road you need (want, desire, crave, depend on) to take when you hit that fork ---

Regardless, we're all on that journey. And I know that we're on it together. I am lucky to have such great friends who have encouraged and inspired me to keep writing, to keep on trekking - the journey is hardly over yet, in fact, I have yet to really get started.

So thank you so much from the bottom of my heart for your kind words and your support. I know that someday I will get to that point where I can be the strongest that I can be, and be accepting of it all. I just know that right now it's all so fresh. It just happened less than a month ago - and I am still in this state of bewilderment not knowing really if it has all sunk in yet. I know that one day in the next few months, I will probably be on the DC metro, or in the car with my friends and just break down to the realization of it all. Because that's when the reality hits me the most - when I am not really dwelling on it. But that day will come, and I know that when it does, even though I may or may not be ready for it, it will be ready for me.

I can't imagine yet what life will be like completely bald - it's still such an astonishing thing that I have all these bald spots rearing their shininess in my face every morning.

My boss told me today that her "patience is wearing thin" because yesterday I was having side effects from the steroids (it's only been a week and I suspected that I might get headaches or something of the like, because that's what the doctor assured me might occur) and had to leave work an hour early. It's almost like people like her believe that I woke up one day and thought that I would just make my hair fall out for no reason at all. She kept telling me when it first started that it really wasn't that bad, and that I should just get over it because it's just hair - how easy is it for her to say that when she has a full head of hair on her head? What if it were her? She doesn't come home with me every night - she doesn't stare into the mirror after I take a shower and see the clumps of hair that are falling all over my shoulders. She doesn't hear my heart crumbling every time I find another bald spot.

I am so glad that you guys have been so supportive and such a big help -you just don't even know. I know that I have struggled through a lot of things in my life, and this is just one more thing to add to the list. It's just the initial shock that is always the killer.

But there are still those mountains to climb. There are still those steeps slopes to conquer. I'm still on my way to braving this Arirang.

Afraid of my reflection

It's 10:20 and I know I should be in bed. I left work an hour early today after feeling so crappy and getting in trouble with my boss for taking a nap during my lunch hour (I was under the impression that my lunch hour was MINE and that I could do whatever I wanted during that hour but apparently that came with an asterick.) and came home only to crash onto my bed with a throbbing headache and a nauseated stomach. I just started to cry out in pain because I have no idea where this is all coming from. It took me forever to get to sleep but I finally passed out and woke up at about 6. So I slept for about two hours.

And then I went online to check my email. I had joined this alopecia areata online yahoo email group and really haven't been writing at all, just lurking and reading other people's posts. Reading some of those posts is worse than watching the Lifetime channel. I stopped reading them at lunchtime at work because I end up sitting there, tearing up and crying in my cubicle. All these stories from these people (mostly women) explaining their struggles with alopecia and the emotional struggles they have had to face over the years. How they found out that they had it - how it was to not have eyebrows or eyelashes or any sort of hair at all on their bodies. How just without the hair on their scalp it has been such a long emotionally tiring road for them - the posts with lists of medications that might trigger alopecia, the posts that hold confessions of being embarrassed, and humiliated, the same feelings that I have felt for the past few weeks while staring into the mirror every morning.

I read these posts, and I see so much of myself in these women. It comes with a comforting and frightening feeling at the same time. On one hand, I am comforted by the fact that I know that I am not alone and that there are so many people out there that deal with this day in and day out. On the other hand, I see the struggle even more through them, and hear all these stories of people who find steroids that work for them but come with other side effects - or that after their hair grows back ten times stronger that immediately it falls out again in less time than before. I read about other women who after so many years of dealing with the disease have given up the fight and decide to just shave off their hair and never look back. It makes me scared to think that I might be bald for the rest of my life. But why? I keep asking myself why I am so upset over this - because it is after all, just hair. It is just a vanity thing, right? Or is it more than that? Is it a psychological thing that goes deeper than just the hair on my head? I am not sure - but a part of me still feels a little silly for being so frightened over losing all of my hair. The thought of always having to wear a wig for the rest of my life. I guess because it was never anything that I ever thought I would have to think about.

Funny how things work out like that.

Trying to catch up...

Wow. What one wild and crazy weekend won't do to you. I hardly had time to write anything in this blog all weekend because by the time we got home, J and I just passed out from heat exhaustion, drunkenness, and plain flat-out tiredness. I think the only time we woke up was to order food or to leave to go get food. (Which was an amazing feat for me, might I add :-) I loooove being a bum after a good party.)



Sooo where do I begin? Let's start with Friday:

I went to see Dr. B at 9:45 AM at JHH's Outpatient Center. I hadn't been to the Outpatient Center for several years - I want to say since I was 14-years old or so. It was like deju vu being back in that place, walking through the circular doors and everything. I was quite nervous. One, because I still wasn't sure what it was that I had yet. Two, because for the first time ever, my parents saw the massive bald spots that had been manifesting themselves all over my scalp and they freaked out. Didn't even want to look at them. Which in turn, made me feel even more like crap. My first order of business was to find out whether I would need a referral to see Dr. B or not. Due to the fact that his name wasn't listed on my approved doctors list through my insurance, I wasn't too sure, and I didn't want to get turned away from him (because I had already built myself up to fully trust him and everything). So armed with referral in hand, I went to sign in. The girl at the front desk said that my insurance accepted Dr. B...woo hoo!!!!!! One less thing I had to worry about.

As I was sitting there, waiting to be called, my Mom kept insisting on coming in with me to see the doctor. Why? To be supportive? To be there for me in my time of need? No, she wanted to be able to tell him that she had diagnosed me all along. She wanted to impress him with her medical knowledge. Words straight from her mouth. I told her that I thought it would be best if she just stayed outside and waited for me to come out from the visit. She didn't look all too pleased at my answer.

Then, my number was called. I followed the woman back to the doctor's examination rooms and sat there to patiently wait. I knew it was going to take forever until I saw Dr. B because I had come on a clinic day - and clinic days are the worst. They double book as many people as they can, and there are usually only a few residents on, with only a handful of attendees and so you have the appointment at 9:45AM but you don't end up getting out of there until around 2 PM. I knew from experience going to clinic days at the pediatric orthopedic outpatient center, or the pediatric neurology outpatient center.

Eventually, Dr. B popped his head in just to say hi. He apologized because he just wanted to let me know that it was going to be a long wait. I told him not to worry about it, that I expected it to be a long wait and that he should not stress and go help the other patients. He said that he was the only resident on call that morning, so that anyone and everyone who randomly called in with an issue would be sent to his attention. I can't even imagine what kind of stress that man goes through.

Anyways, I really didn't have to wait forever (I am not sure if that is because Dr. B made sure that I was seen as soon as possible or whether that meant that he was able to get through all those patients quicker than he thought.) And sooner than later, Dr. B was in the examination room with me, checking out my bald spots. For a while I have been kind of on the defensive side (I know that I definitely have driven J nuts, asking him if it weirded him out to see my hair line receding all the freakin' time.) but Dr. B made me feel totally and completely comfortable. He said that he was sure by our phone conversation that it was alopecia but he was glad that I had been able to come in so that he could examine it for himself. He left the room and came back with an attending physician who was super nice (the guy's name has left my memory, probably sucked from my brain by the many sun rays this weekend) and he confirmed that my bald spots were, in fact, alopecia. I told J later that it was kind of hilarious because for a few minutes, the attending was staring and examining my hair, probing and moving my hair to view the bald spots better. Eventually, I guess he found the middle bald spot and said, "A Ha! This is the classic example of a main focal point where the hair began to fall out. Come here, and take a look at this!" He was so enthusiastic, and had his little magnifying glass out, staring at my scalp, and moving to the side to make room for Dr. B. I felt like a weird living science experiment, it was kinda cool. The attending pulled away from my scalp and took a deep breath before speaking to me, "What you have is alopecia areata, and it is not curable but it is treatable. You will not have to live with a bald spot forever. However, by the state of your bald spots as they are now, we do not want to let it go any longer for fear of it becoming alopecia areata totalis (meaning entire hair loss)." Neither did I. But then the next thing he said scared me to death, "We are going to administer some steroid injections into your scalp and then I am going to prescribe a steroid cream to be applied on the bald spots at night. The shots you have to keep getting every month or you will keep losing your hair and the cream needs to be set on your scalp every single night. With the shots and the cream you should see some minor hair growth within a week."

What scared me the most was the mention of the injections. One, I hate needles with an incredible passion. I hate looking at them, I hate the way they feel, etc. etc. And on top of that, he was going to be injecting me with STEROIDS. And I have been on those suckers before and let me tell you, it wasn't pretty. I gained a shitload of weight, and then lost it as soon as they took me off of the steroids (realizing they had put me on them by mistake) and then I found myself in the hospital for like three months. I didn't want to have to go through that again. But as they both left the examination room, I had found enough strength to convince myself that they weren't going to administer the injections today, and that they were probably going to make me set another appointment to come in and get the shots then. I was cool, I was calm, I was collected.

Until Dr. B came in and sat down next to me and said, "okay, so are you okay with the shots? You going to be okay with that?"

I said, "C, who is going to be administering these shots every time I come in?"

"Oh, I will or he will. Why? Is that okay?"

"C, I don't want anyone else injecting steroids into my head."

'Nuff said. But then this nurse woman comes into the room and hands Dr. B a syringe. WTF? AHHHH~~!!! I wasn't prepared to get shots in my head yet!! But I didn't have enough time to wiggle out of it or anything. Next thing I know, Dr. B and the attending come strolling through the door, strapping on non-latex gloves and rubbing my scalp with the alcohol wipee. Surprisingly enough, the pain didn't come from the actual injection. It just felt like a slight pinch and boom! It was over. It wasn't until I came back to work later on a few hours later that the pain started to set in. It was like an never ending throbbing feeling, all over my head and all over the injection spots. When I was leaving work, both B brothers gave me a call, Dr. B first to see how I was doing - if I was having any side effects or anything, and also to let me know that I could call him anytime that something should go wrong. It made me feel so much happier and relieved to know that Dr. B was going to be my dermatologist for all this. It's nice to know someone that you trust when you go through something scary like this. And then J called, wondering what his brother had to say. I explained to him the entire situation and he was happy that I got treatment and was hopeful that now this meant that I would have a relaxing, non-worried time at Virgin Fest the next day and Sunday.

Saturday:

Ahhh, Virgin Fest. Amazing, amazing I tell you. I am at work now but as I finish this blog later on, I will be adding the pictures to help illustrate the chaos. It was fucking amazing. Everything and more than I expected. I certainly know that J had a good time. We both went nuts all over the place, and were dancing like two crazy people despite the heat. I don't even want to go into how many $4 bottles of Gatorade I went through to keep hydrated, but let's just say I didn't pass out or anything - but there certainly were some people who did - I think that later in the afternoon towards the evening, J and I would look at each other every time we heard an emergency siren or saw someone being carried off on a stretcher. The people were so super friendly and nice there - hardly any assholes or bitches, although there were a few people that once they got drunk, they would bump into me or try to crush me with their massive weight as they pushed through the crowds - but overall, everyone was pretty nice. I mean I ended up having conversations with everyone that I got in line with either at the food stands or the bar stands. The staff was also super nice (But I mean who wouldn't be if you got to see The Police, Velvet Revolver, The Smashing Pumpkins, and Incubus for FREE?) It was also pretty awesome about the last minute acts like Panic! At The Disco who rocked it like a mutha fucka on stage. The other thing that was massively dope? The sound system! This was the first concert that I had ever been to where the sound system was so crystal clear, and other than Cheap Trick (who should just stop touring altogether in my opinion. J said that no sound system could ever help the dude's vocal chords out.) every single artists sounded like straight from their album. As if you were just popping in the CD into your player and listening to it right then and there.

I'll go more into Sunday and definitely show you all pictures from Saturday as soon as I get home. I am dying to share them with everyone - especially since they turned out so clear!! :-)

For the Fear of Instant Ramen

So after reading the blog comment from Goosey today, I started second guessing my love of Instant Ramen (Is it really that bad for your health? How could something so ingenious, so affordable, so...so instant - be the cause of my hair woes?) I ultimately decided that I should take a brief hiatus (at least until Dr. C sees me on Friday morning) from my beloved penny-saving meal.

And then I came home. Bah...it's become the worst part of my day since moving in here. Although I haven't had too many encounters of the STRA[PSYCHO]NGE kind in the most recent times, I have however, begun to really hate the fact that I don't have any room in my room. To do anything. But that's a side note.

On top of the fact that I don't have any room to store anything - I had gotten it into my head that I would come home and nuke my noodles that I had cooked the night before. Just as I had began to salivate in my mouth for the delectable taste of buttered noodles with pepper (I love pepper on buttered noodles, so there)...I romp into the kitchen only to find that the MICROWAVE IS BROKEN!

*GASP* How dare the microwave be broken. Of all freakin' days...

I rummaged through my one cupboard that I was allotted downstairs to find something that was tasty, easy, and didn't require a microwave. *cue heavenly lightbulb-just-turned-on-music*

This is what awaited me, this is what stared me straight in the face.

How could I resist? It's been an hour since I have eaten the delicious instantaneous life support, and thus far, no further hair has fallen out...yet.

If tomorrow another bald spot appears, I am blaming it on Goosey, and the Instant Ramen. Damn it. :-P :-)

Hope Comes in Hair-Growth Bottles

I really hope that (Dr.) C can give me some options on Friday for treatment. I'll try anything at this point. Seriously.

This morning I found another spot. This time it was the size of a sand-dollar pancake at one of those 24/7 diners. I am not going ballistic today. I actually am quite calm and quite happy. It's just a little ugly, that's all.

J's Mom said that she knew a friend of hers that used some topical steroid cream and her hair grew back ten times thicker than before. She also said that she knew of a guy in the Philippines who does hair transplants.

So...if nothing comes of the cream, or anything else I try (Rogaine for Women?) then I guess I'll be hopping my ass onto the next flight to Manila!!!!

Forcing myself to write

Normally, the way I am feeling write now would never solicite blog writing but I think in order to help alleviate the stresses that are running through my mind right now that a session of blog therapy might do the trick.



The past two weeks have been the quickest and at the same time, longest weeks that I have ever experienced in my life. Starting with last weekend when we all decided to go to Artscape on Saturday.



I woke up like I usually do after a crazy night of partying...barely shuffling through my room to grab a towel and head to the shower.



I shuffled further into my bathroom, turned the shower on, and started to brush my teeth. Normal, right?



But it wasn't until I stepped into the shower that the most unusual thing happened.



The minute the water hit my head and I started shampooing, I noticed that I felt a lot more strands of my hair between my fingers than ever before. I wiped my arm across my eyes and opened them to stare at my hands only to see huge clumps of my hair wrapped around my fingers.



Now I have shed hair like most women, it gets annoying most of the time, especially when you feel something clinging to your arm as you're walking and you know its a piece of hair but you can't find the exact strand that is bothering you...but this was way more than just one strand.



I decided to ignore it. That is, until I went into my room later to comb my hair out. That's when I noticed that my natural part looked...rather large. Like a small bald spot. And that more of my hair was falling out even without me touching it.



I decided to be in denial...and sprayed my scalp with volumizing booster and blewdried my hair out to make it look full...



As the weekend came to a close, I found that my hair was really starting to fall out. In huge clumps. By that Wednesday, I was paranoid to even wash my hair, touch my hair, or run a comb through it without seeing the large amount of clumps that would fall out. So much that I started to diminish my feelings of denial and start to worry.



So I decided to call my PCP and order some blood tests. I had researched hair loss a little bit on the internet and figured that it might have something to do with my thyroid.

Another few days pass by after my blood tests, and more clumps of hair could be found all across my carpet, falling out by itself at this point. I began to get paranoid about showering, because as the water would fall over my scalp, my hair would fall out with it, all around my feet like out of a horror movie.

And then the most positive news of all quickly became the most negative. My doctor called and told me that the blood tests came back completely negative for any thyroid disorder. In fact, he had run even further extensive blood work, due to the rapid succession that my hair was falling out, and everything came back normal. Extremely normal, he had said.

He said that only left one thing as an option as far as he could think.

Alopecia acreata.

An auto-immune disorder that mistakens your hair follicles for a foreign tissue. Apparently, one day my body woke up, and told my immune system that the hair on my scalp was pissing it off, and something had to be done...therefore, my immune system, being the hardcore posse that it is, went full throttle in its attack against my innocent hair follicles. That's the story I've been telling anyway....

I don't know how else to say this: even the smallest thing can make the biggest difference, I guess. Something so small as hair, you never realize it's really there (unless you're one who likes to change hair colors, and uses your hair as an accessory) but I was never one of those girls. Hair was just...hair. Until now.

There's a part of me that tends to feel like a lame ass. In the end, it's just hair, right? I am not in any pain, nor have I contracted some terminal illness...and yet, for the past two weeks, I haven't been able to sleep, I haven't been able to get over the paranoia of taking a shower without a showercap on (and have resorted to only washing my hair every three days), and I will admit, I have tried to completely avoid looking into the mirror, unless absolutely necessary.

The worst day of this whole ordeal had to be Thursday of this past week. I woke up, and being as it was the third day, decided that since I had taken a full shower the night before, that I would just hang my head over the edge of the tub and wash my hair.

I started running my fingers softly, gently against my scalp with the shampoo. My eyes were shut to keep the suds from burning my eyeballs out. And then I began to rinse. Finally, as I felt the last bit of threatening suds leave the vicinity of my eyes, I opened them, and fell into a state of shock.

The entire bathtub was filled with my hair. The bath plug hadn't been unplugged and the water was just building up, but for as much water that was in the bathtub, there was hair. My hair.

I fell back against the bathroom floor and started to panic. I wanted to scream, but it felt too early, too scary to scream. All I could feel were the heated tears forming in my eyes, and all I could hear was my heart pounding in my chest, through my ears, until that was all I could hear.

I couldn't stare anymore. It was humiliating, horrifying...I ran into my room, sat on the floor, and cried.

I just cried. I cried and cried until I couldn't hear my heart pounding anymore. I stared into the mirror and saw three huge bald spots all over my scalp, leering and jeering at me, as if to taunt me.

Now this is what might sound a bit strange to people, but I don't care. In my desperate state of mind, it seemed like the right thing to do. It seemed justified. I was suddenly overwhelmed with the thought of possibly no one believing me that the entire bathtub was filled with my own hair, mainly because I could hardly believe it myself.

So I took plastic Ziploc bags into the bathroom, and with my one hand holding open the bag, I dipped the other one into the water and pulled out the hair and stuffed it into the bag. I wasn't sure what else to do with it come to think of it - placing it into the trash ... I can't explain it, it just didn't seem right. Not something you do with hair that was just attached to you five minutes ago.

I think I put the hair into the Ziploc bags for confirmation for myself. Perhaps to shake me up, to force me out of the denial that I had been placing over myself for the previous week that something could be wrong. Or perhaps I am so used to no one ever really believing me that I had to have concrete evidence for the one day that someone might say, "oh no you couldn't have possibly lost that much hair." To which I wouldn't reply, but simply just place the bags of hair into their hands. Oh yes, I did.

When I got back into my room, I was uncontrollably a basket case. I called J, exclaiming how horrified I was, how scared I was, how I had no fucking clue what the hell was going on with me.

He told me to call his brother (who is a dermatologist, and a great person at that) seeing as alopecia is a disorder dealing with the skin. I called C and left a message. He returned the call, and after explaining the situation to him (with a little less hysterics) he seemed to have come to the same conclusion: that it sounded like alopecia. So this Friday I go to see him and wish for the best. I have been doing a lot of research, trying to find any and all outlets as to different treatments and that sort of thing. I won't leave one stone unturned.

Okay, so this post has become a bit dramatic. Let me end on a good note, then.

Friends. My friends, particularly, have been the most supportive, loving bunch I could have ever asked for. LP called me on Friday to make sure I was doing alright, and J actually came over and made sure to tell me over and over again that I'd be fine, that I'd be okay...and I know I will be. It was definitely a huge scare at first, I tell you that. I'm not going to lie. I positively freaked the hell out.

But after this past weekend, after being surrounded by friends, and people I know who love me, and feeling the support - it's become what it always was before: just hair. And with or without it, whether it grows back or not, I know I got love. :-)