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For two weeks in October 2014 I Googled, searched WebMD and tried to prepare myself for whatever would happen.
It was a daunting task because the list of search items was pages long. Really, it could be anything and nothing.
Randy and I talked about how we would deal with whatever it was. It was kind of hard to anticipate something when we didn’t have a clue. It was hard to even keep a smile on my face.
As the world’s biggest pessimist, I always anticipate the worst so when it doesn’t turn out that bad, I can be excited.
One day at work during the two week waiting period I was readjusting my head band. I do it several times a day, so it’s nothing out of the ordinary. But today was not a typical day. My hand grazed the back of my head just at my hairline. And again, I felt the tears fill my eyes.
A round bald spot was beginning to reveal itself at the lower left side of the back of my head. And this time, my head band wasn’t going to cover it.
I wasn’t even sure what to do at this point. They still didn’t know what was wrong with me so how were they going to stop it?
I decided that the best thing I could do was wait until my dermatologist appointment. Then, she would have two sites to poke and test and do whatever she pleased.
The most difficult thing about watching my hair fall out is not knowing when it will strike and glare it’s ugly head. No one wants to feel like a freak. I had always been the small nerdy kid that was picked on, but I wasn’t the freak. I didn’t have experience in this.
During my research, I had read of several instances of children and teens losing their hair. All of it. Eyebrows, eyelashes, everything. I thought back to my childhood and teen years and couldn’t imagine going through what I’m dealing with as an adult.
I couldn’t imagine being the cheerleader with the big bald spot. I couldn’t imagine being scared the wind would blow my hair the wrong way during games. I couldn’t imagine having to tell the coach that I couldn’t wear my hair like everyone else and that the team would have to match me.
Tumbling and stunting would’ve been out of the question.
I wouldn’t have cheered, and that’s the truth.
As an adult, I must not have it that bad.
Randy convinced me that the spot near my neck wasn’t noticeable.
Through all of this I have never been a freak to him. I have always been his beautiful wife, hair or not.
The days when I would come home and cry, he didn’t need to understand.
The days he caught me on the internet pricing wigs, he told me to buy whatever I liked regardless of price.
The many days I came home ready to whip out the clippers and shave my head, he offered to shave his head too.
And when I needed to suck it up and bring my pity party to an end, he was the first person to tell me.
We’ve always had that type of relationship. From yelling at me on the mat when we cheered to quit being a mental case, to being someone to just talk to. Randy is more than just my husband. He’s my coach, friend and shoulder to cry on.
I still remember that Christmas he asked me what gift I wanted and I burst into tears and said that I just wanted my hair back. A simple request. A complicated answer. And if Randy could’ve given me his own hair he would’ve.
I am lucky I have him, because two weeks of being in limbo was a struggle. But I knew whatever was thrown at me, Randy would be right at my side with his battle armor on.
When the doctor’s phone call came, I was prepared and ready to hear anything. So I thought.
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