Today I was reading about the recurrent hair dreams many people with alopecia experience. I confess to feeling a bit sheepish. I've only had one dream. In my dream I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth when the panel of large round white bulbs over the mirror reflected a couple of wiry white hairs under my chin. I was horrified!
"No...NO!"I screeched. I tried to rub them off with a wash cloth. I looked in vain for a tweezers in the cabinet...but I'd thrown them all away when my hair fell out. "Not goat-chin hair! Please, God, not the chin hair! I LIKE being bald! No more chicken-butt hair in the morning. When I'm hot I dunk my head under the nearest faucet, shake it dry and walk away cool and refreshed. No more feeling like a cranky bear when hair gets in my eyes. No more spending money lining the pockets of hair care product gurus. I'm free. I'm comfortable. I'm happy. Send it to someone who wants it, Poppa God, 'cause I don't miss it and I don't want it back...especially the chin wire!"
I woke up, stumbled to the bathroom, turned on the lights and checked every inch of my head. Not a hair in sight. "Whew!" I exhaled unaware I'd been holding my breath. I eased my head under tepid water from the sink faucet drying it gently and lovingly with the fluffy bath towel behind the door.
One last look to be sure I hadn't missed an errant hair and I padded back to bed, thinking this hair dream must mean I'm inherently lazy, and more concerned with my creature comfort than my appearance or the opinions of others. I paused, considering whether I should be bothered by such an attitude. I yawned; decided I couldn't be bothered to be bothered, and fell back to sleep. Hairless dreamless delightful sleep.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Friday, August 14, 2009
The Bald Pain
Sometimes the side affects of pain killers hurt more than the affliction.
A week ago I had knee surgery to repair a torn meniscus – a doughnut shaped piece of cartilage inside the knee that sits between the femur and tibia bones. Its job is to cushion the movement of those leg bones. When the meniscus is torn through injury swelling and knee pain result; and, since cartilage doesn’t heal, surgery is necessary.
This was my third meniscus surgery (I really have to slow down and watch where I’m going – or at least not land on my knees when I trip.) Still, I knew from experience this would be a walk-in-the-park, a piece of cake. A couple of days and I’d be up to speed again.
Apparently, knee surgery is like pregnancy, each one is different. Once the local anesthetic the doc injected into the knee during surgery wore off the pain level went from zero to high tide and kept rising. Vicodin didn’t touch it. I punched the emergency number into my phone and growled at the kind surgeon through clenched teeth: “Drugs! I need real drugs and I need them now!”
I know, I know. Very un-stoic. Definitely wussy. I was prodded by pain and the fear of that pain and the desire for immediate relief.
The next drug I took greatly reduced the level of pain, but the side effects left me with vivid and disturbing dreams. A couple of days later I woke to the thunder of my dogs pounding up the stairs as the sound of my loudest shrillest wake-the-dead whistle reverberated off the walls. My heart drummed an erratic rhythm in my ears. Who knew you can whistle in your sleep. I was terrified.
Turns out, the pain killers were worse than the pain. I didn’t have control over the pain in my leg, but I did have control over what I chose to do about it. So I stopped the meds. Cold turkey.
I felt the same way when my hair fell out. I was in emotional distress and was prodded by that pain to seek immediate relief. When comb-overs weren’t enough, I went to a wig.
Turns out, that pain killer, too, was worse than the pain of exposed baldness.
Tight nets left me with killer headaches. Wigs were so hot I sweat off the make up I used to cover up missing eyebrows and eyelashes. My boss walking up behind my computer chair to discuss the current project unknowingly caused an instant 60’s bouffant bubble in the top of my wig when I looked up and back over my shoulder. It was humiliating to have to shove it back down and adjust its position. I could never go to a meeting without checking to be sure my hair was even on both sides. I was constantly on edge and self conscious. I stopped laughing and enjoying my interactions. People began looking at me askance and asking what was wrong. I was miserable…depressed and lost and miserable.
I didn’t have control over the baldness, but I did have control over what I chose to do about it. So I stopped the wig. Cold turkey. And now I use hats to protect my head from cold weather, not to protect others from my bald head.
Just as the pain in my leg is gradually decreasing as healing progresses, so the pain of my baldness decreases as I accept it and embrace the healing process.
For me, that healing process includes:
• Personal interactions with others to educate and desensitize
• Exposing and challenging the edicts of our hair addicted society to girls and women – there is no shame involved, but there are billions of dollars at stake.
• Utilizing whatever writing talent and skills I have to create Boldly Bald Women, a book about women who choose to face their baldness and their lives without hiding
• Joining with other bald women through Alopecia World (www.alopeciaworld.com) in mutual support across national and international lines
Pain is part of life. Fear is part of pain. Although we cannot control everything, we can choose to take control of what is controllable and make the best and bravest choices we are able to make at the time.
As we do what we can, where we are, with what we have available, we gain strength and wisdom for another step and another step after that and another and another until what has struck us down no longer has us paralyzed with pain and fear and dread.
There is no way out of pain except through it; but on the other side of pain is the healing of quiet confidence and the flowing joy of self acceptance.
May Poppa God grant you courage and strength and His peace as you face the pain in your own life and may you be guided to your own place of quiet confidence and flowing joy.
PS. Slow down and watch where you're walking!!!
A week ago I had knee surgery to repair a torn meniscus – a doughnut shaped piece of cartilage inside the knee that sits between the femur and tibia bones. Its job is to cushion the movement of those leg bones. When the meniscus is torn through injury swelling and knee pain result; and, since cartilage doesn’t heal, surgery is necessary.
This was my third meniscus surgery (I really have to slow down and watch where I’m going – or at least not land on my knees when I trip.) Still, I knew from experience this would be a walk-in-the-park, a piece of cake. A couple of days and I’d be up to speed again.
Apparently, knee surgery is like pregnancy, each one is different. Once the local anesthetic the doc injected into the knee during surgery wore off the pain level went from zero to high tide and kept rising. Vicodin didn’t touch it. I punched the emergency number into my phone and growled at the kind surgeon through clenched teeth: “Drugs! I need real drugs and I need them now!”
I know, I know. Very un-stoic. Definitely wussy. I was prodded by pain and the fear of that pain and the desire for immediate relief.
The next drug I took greatly reduced the level of pain, but the side effects left me with vivid and disturbing dreams. A couple of days later I woke to the thunder of my dogs pounding up the stairs as the sound of my loudest shrillest wake-the-dead whistle reverberated off the walls. My heart drummed an erratic rhythm in my ears. Who knew you can whistle in your sleep. I was terrified.
Turns out, the pain killers were worse than the pain. I didn’t have control over the pain in my leg, but I did have control over what I chose to do about it. So I stopped the meds. Cold turkey.
I felt the same way when my hair fell out. I was in emotional distress and was prodded by that pain to seek immediate relief. When comb-overs weren’t enough, I went to a wig.
Turns out, that pain killer, too, was worse than the pain of exposed baldness.
Tight nets left me with killer headaches. Wigs were so hot I sweat off the make up I used to cover up missing eyebrows and eyelashes. My boss walking up behind my computer chair to discuss the current project unknowingly caused an instant 60’s bouffant bubble in the top of my wig when I looked up and back over my shoulder. It was humiliating to have to shove it back down and adjust its position. I could never go to a meeting without checking to be sure my hair was even on both sides. I was constantly on edge and self conscious. I stopped laughing and enjoying my interactions. People began looking at me askance and asking what was wrong. I was miserable…depressed and lost and miserable.
I didn’t have control over the baldness, but I did have control over what I chose to do about it. So I stopped the wig. Cold turkey. And now I use hats to protect my head from cold weather, not to protect others from my bald head.
Just as the pain in my leg is gradually decreasing as healing progresses, so the pain of my baldness decreases as I accept it and embrace the healing process.
For me, that healing process includes:
• Personal interactions with others to educate and desensitize
• Exposing and challenging the edicts of our hair addicted society to girls and women – there is no shame involved, but there are billions of dollars at stake.
• Utilizing whatever writing talent and skills I have to create Boldly Bald Women, a book about women who choose to face their baldness and their lives without hiding
• Joining with other bald women through Alopecia World (www.alopeciaworld.com) in mutual support across national and international lines
Pain is part of life. Fear is part of pain. Although we cannot control everything, we can choose to take control of what is controllable and make the best and bravest choices we are able to make at the time.
As we do what we can, where we are, with what we have available, we gain strength and wisdom for another step and another step after that and another and another until what has struck us down no longer has us paralyzed with pain and fear and dread.
There is no way out of pain except through it; but on the other side of pain is the healing of quiet confidence and the flowing joy of self acceptance.
May Poppa God grant you courage and strength and His peace as you face the pain in your own life and may you be guided to your own place of quiet confidence and flowing joy.
PS. Slow down and watch where you're walking!!!
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