Earlier this year, I went bald. Not on purpose or request, but out of nowhere, my hair began to fall out in clumps.
I started out with a mohawk in October of 2020. Just a month prior to the beginning of all of this, I had finally gotten the nerve to do it.
In the saloon chair, the sylist shaved down the sides of my head, leaving the middle of my hair, then bright pink, to drape over the left side of my head. 45 years old and I had thought about doing this for at least two decades.
I started dyeing my hair a multitude of colors in my early 30s. When I was a teenager, I had dyed it a color or two, but it was much bigger deal back then and my parents, particulalry Mom, did not like it, so I left it be.
Time moved on, I dyed my hair natural colors, just not my natural color, for years, until I got bored and started the fuschia run.
Then purple, burgundy, blue (which did not suit me and lasted only a short time,) and any other color imaginable.
Until this time in the hospital. Clumps of pink and blonde hair were falling into my hands, landing on my pillow and no one knew why. Finally it was all gone other than one small patch at the front.
I cried. I’m not ashamed to say that I was saddened by the loss of my hair. As if the fact that I was bedbound, unable to even get up to urinate wasn’t bad enough, now I was bald.
My doctors had no clue, the nurses didn’t either, but they were amazing through it all. The nurses at hospital number two were, overall, the best nurses I have ever had. They held my hand through tears and panic attacks, helped take care of me in the most gentle of manner.
Over the seven months there, several of them became friends. I miss them here in hospital number one. The nurses here just don’t have the same friendliness to them. Everything is much more regimented and nowhere near the comfort of number one.
The story of the nurses are for another day though. There I was bald as can be, no idea why, and scared it was something serious causing it.
Tony found some research showing it was likely stress induced which helped calm my mind. Thoughts of other serious illness had danced through there, what if I had cancer again, or my body was shutting down from my intestines not working properly.
He would rub my bald head and tell me I was beautiful.
Just as quickly as it went though, it came back. Tony rubbed my head one morning and felt the peach fuzz of the new start of my hair.
Nothing had changed, no meds, nothing with my TPN, I was just growing hair again.
Today, you can’t tell that I was bald just months ago. I have hair and it is my natural color. A light brown with grey peeking out. Just this evening I mentioned to Tony that if I wanted to go back to my natural color, now would be the time.
His response, “We’re going to get you home and dye it bright pink!” He’s right. I’m going to make it through all of this and we’re going to go home, together, and dye my hair pink.
Almost 10 months into this journey, we are looking toward our new normal following my surgery. Strong, proud, tough old broad style, here, I’m going to make it through all this and be Suzy again.