Thursday, November 8, 2007
“Wanna see something funny?” I asked my daughter recently while lifting off my wig.
“You’re covered with fuzz!” she exclaimed. “How cute.”
It’s been several weeks since my last Abraxane infusion, the drug that caused me to lose my hair. My head is now covered with hair, feathery and white. It’s not long enough to really keep me from looking bald, and there’s a good chance I’ll lose it again. But in the meantime, it’s pointing the way to what I have to look forward to.
Sometime in the not too distant future I have a decision to make. I would so love to be free of the expensive and time-consuming color habit I never wanted to start in the first place, but once started, I’ve faithfully maintained for the past fifteen or so years. I’m genetically disposed to white hair, but it’s something I was never prepared to welcome on my head. It reminds me too much of my grandmother, who had the snowiest of snow white hair from the earliest I remember her. Now when I see pictures of my young grandmother in her mid-forties, I’m amazed at her young face. That white hair was such a striking statement of “old” that I never got past.
The wig I wear is very close in color to what my hair salon came up with for years. It’s a good match for what my color used to be. But as we age, our skin tone mellows. Mother Nature is the perfect colorist and what she has come up with for me now is white hair to go with my toned down skin. When I see myself bare-headed in the mirror I’m struck with how the halo of white actually brightens up my face.
But then there’s the “old” thing. White hair will always seem old. Am I ready for it? Such a dilemma!
I’d like to post a picture here, but I’ll give it a couple more weeks to grow in before I have another Abraxane reaction and it starts falling out again. Maybe my friends can help me decide. Although, truth be known, who's actually going to tell me I look old?!