Hair

My hair is falling out.

 I am shedding like a snake.

 I am moulting.

 I am losing part of myself.

 I run my fingers through my hair and twenty to thirty strands are caught in my fingers. 

My scalp itch/hurts, and I can't seem to stop myself from messing with my hair to see how much will fall out.

 I knew it would happen and it is right on schedule, just like the doctor said. 

So why am caught off guard? Why so surprised? I don't even think I am sad, but I am emotional.

 Originally I thought that as soon as this started to happen, I would have Blair shave my head to just get it over with. 

Now I find myself wondering how long I can drag this out before people start to notice.

 I have thick hair, at this rate I might be able to get a few more days out of it, maybe even a week? 

 Lydia found a picture of me before I ever cut my hair and put it on my bathroom mirror to

 "remind you that you are beautiful." Because evidently bald isn't very beautiful in her book.

Alli sadly looked at the top of my head and said, 

"I see bald spots."

 This is the big one. 

This is when it becomes obvious to the world and more importantly, to my kids,  that I am sick. 

 I have a lovely collection of hats and scarves and even a wig waiting for this day. 

They all look stupid, they all scream cancer. 

Why is this such a big deal?

 I have been so boldly declaring that we don't care about hair, we only care about kicking cancer. 

But evidently I do care.

 More than I thought.

 Sigh...cancer is not for the vain.

But I know that there is always sunshine after the storm and one day I can grow my hair just as long as I please. 

And I will.