#10 Buzz Cut

I am blessed with a head of thick, dark, hair, often long and usually straight. If there is a quick, low-maintenance way to wear it, I do, from a pony tail to tucked up in a bun with a chopstick. In my 40s, as eager strands of silvery white wisp into the mix, I like the fun sprinkling of salt and pepper.

Ten years ago in treatment, I know chemotherapy, among other things, will go after cells that rapidly divide, including hair. When my hair begins to let loose in earnest, I hightail it to the local barber for a buzz cut. My head is not too big, not too small, no distracting lumps or bumps, scars or curious protuberances. Though I never pet a chinchilla, I keep thinking, goodness, this feels like a chinchilla, the diminutive South American mammal who can sprout up to 60 hairs per follicle! People I run into are compelled to ask if they can touch my head.

As treatment ensues, that lovely buzz cut falls away, too. And in time, my hair grows back, first curly, where I look like I am trying to mimic Paul’s signature coils, and then very much back to my own. Over this last decade of excellent health, I never have a bad hair day because I say, Well! It’s GOOD to have hair!

This time around I ask my oncologist if I might consider the cold cap, where you wear an ice cap during infusions to prevent chemo from reaching the scalp and therefore prevent all your hair from falling…