It occurred to me this morning (as I was looking at yet another handful of falling hair) that among the three million women in America who are also currently losing their goldilocks (some as young as fifteen) and with more of us each day joining this elite club, there may be someone who has found some helpful remedy other than the abrupt notion of just cutting it all off and buying a wig. Obviously, those in the wigged group don’t spend their summers sweating in Phoenix. Not that I wouldn’t mind a couple of beautiful, I’d-never-guess-in-a-million-years, wiggy thing. I’d not be opposed at all. It’s just that wigs aren’t always compatible with 110 degrees and counting.
Also, my doctor’s pronouncement that because my father was bald, I’m also destined down that path just didn’t seem right. It just didn’t seem like a correct analogy. As the doctor told me his diagnosis, my head kept singing, “One of these things is not like the other.” Now, don’t get me wrong. If I’m gonna be a bald woman, so be it. There are so many worse things in the world than fretting over being follically challenged. Men deal with it handsomely, and there’s no reason women can’t as well. I just felt I had received a dismissive and incomplete answer.
So, I wonder if someone else has walked away from a doctor’s appointment with that same nagging feeling of not having been fully informed? I wonder if perhaps someone went on to find a lotion or potion or yoga pose that worked? Maybe lighting some candles and saying a novena to the Saint of Falling Hair? Maybe some veta-vita-vegamin that poofs up the hair and makes it all sticky so it doesn’t fall out of its little shaft? Maybe some simple hugs and hand-holding until we each find our happy-bunny place of acceptance? Something? Anything?
I propose we gather all serious thoughts and publish them here on the website. It’s all about helping one another succeed and doing so as gracefully as possible. Hey, I’ll even send a lovely DancingBirds.com baseball hat to the most clever, least noxious suggestion. So, pony up, ladies — and gentlemen too. Let’s hear your remedies, your thoughts, even your admonitions to just suck it up and get over it.
Let’s see what we can do to help each other be the beautiful Dancing Birds we are … and perhaps learn a new step or two from someone else.
P.S. I’ll leave this post up for a couple of days to give an opportunity for any and all passers-by to play.
Loosing one’s hair, or watching it turn gray and finally silver; is it a fear of a change in appearance, or a fear of how others might react to that change? Whichever way it really is, it seems that there are plenty of folks out there ready to make a buck and help you solve the dilemma. Of course, there are the wig makers and toupee sellers. There are the hair coloring products and even the establishments that promise to restore a full head of hair. Surely there must be someone, somewhere who will help folks accept the change(s)simply as a matter of you being you.
From my own perspective, I don’t think I need to comtemplate any loss of hair, but what I have is showing a little grayer everyday. My reaction? So, I’m growing a little older everyday, why shouldn’t I exhibit some of the normal signs of it. I’d like to think that I’d respond the same way if I started developing a “wide part.” It’s a matter of self-confidence, I think. If you have that, you will be able to face whatever change in appearance comes your way. More importantly, you will be able to deal with the way others might react to it.
Ah, Dave. You’re helping me find that happy-bunny place. What a prince! You’re a man not unlike my husband who accepts a woman as she comes — wide part and all.
Beautiful comment from a beautiful person. So far, you win the cap!
I’m sorry for your stress and traumatic dealing with hair loss. Some things just define women. They seem intrinsic to all women worldwide. Sensitivity, strong emotions, love of all children. And, yes, loss of hair. A scar, a tic, acceptable. Loss of hair? No. It seems this affliction is a stigma. A scarlet letter visible to everyone. An outward sign of shortcoming.
Think of it as a turn in the road. You can choose to go moody and desolate. Or, accentuate what you have. The author of the Harry Potter books was turned down 18 times before someone took a chance on her.
Look for another doctor who specializes in hair loss. Look in the Internet. Try rogaine. Get the picture? Keep trying. This is for you. This effort is for all the others with your condition. You can be the spark to help others. You can connect your success with those who have less opportunity to succeed.
Go Girl! I’m hoping huge success for you.
Thank you, Tom. You’re so right about looking for other answers. You’re also right about being that spark to help others. I’m searching. Searching. One doctor’s dismissive answer isn’t enough. I’m searching. So, I pass the cap to you. A Dancing Bird keeps dancing, regardless the odds. Thanks so much for your good and kind comment.
Oh, my friend. No wonder you’ve been quiet. I am feeling for you in your pain. I don’t know what that dianosis would feel like, but I became quite challenged in the hair department with both of my pregnancies, so I do know how that can feel, at least for a little while. The fear of it being gone forever, never to return, was so disheartening…
There are so many influences when it comes to a woman’s hair, even going back to the bible–crowning glory and all…but it takes no guts to wear a beautiful head of hair. CHICKEN FEATHERS takes guts. That is what I have always called my less than impressive collection. God is merciful in that He answered my prayers and gave my two daughters INCREDIBLE heads of hair and generous hearts to cut off that hair and donate it to alopetia patients, and now they are sending it to you. I don’t know what you will decide to do, but we support you all the way.
Lisa — You make me laugh! CHICKEN FEATHERS, indeed. Have your sweet girls just send me some Spirit hair. Ooooo … I can feel it growing already.
My primary doctor is working on some thoughts and explanations for the hair loss other than just because my dad was bald … or, just because for no reason. There may be a medical reason (or two) that would answer the question. At least I’d know something different than what little I now know. I suppose it’s not so much that I have big gaping holes in my hair, but rather being dismissed so quickly by that one doctor.
Thanks for being there. You’re a true gift. I’ve been singing the Popeye song lately … you know — that one stanza that goes, “I like to go swimmin’ with bald-headed women, I’m Popeye the Sailor Man. Boop Boop.” Then I jump in the pool and have a nice swim.