It’s predictable and consistently reoccurring. Precisely measured so the rotation is perfectly timed every few months.
I go up the hill of success, only to slide down the other side. Up, down, repeat.
I have been fighting the battle for my hair for six years now. Since I sought treatment I have seen growth and further loss.
One day I’m reaching for the scissors and the next I have hope this saga will come to a close.
A trip to the dermatologist these days is every three months and typically results in a steroid injected just under the skin. Sounds painless, but the ones where I have to flip over my head and take a shot to the hairline at the base of my skull release uncontrollable tears down my face.
We’re at a total of three problem areas right now. The usual culprit at the left temple, one that would like to make an appearance at the initial geographic location on top of my head and the ever growing third at the back.
I’m still able to function daily with the comb over and low pony tail, and only pull out the headbands when I need to pull my hair to the top of my head. Some days are a little thin, but I’ve worked with worse. Sadly, the headbands are less and less able to cover the spot at the back of my head. Mostly, I just pray few people notice because the back of my head is ridiculous.
The spot at the top of my head fills in and thins out. It’s not completely bare, but only a few hairs grow.
We skipped the injections in May because I was a week out from Lasik surgery. Don’t worry, we’ll get to that story eventually. Injections highly likely in August.
Until then, it’s the typical routine. Take my pill daily and monitor any loss. A schedule. Not necessarily progress. Not necessarily deterioration. Not necessarily stagnation. Just a rotating cycle of frustration.
On a particular day, I went to the National Alopecia Areata Foundation website looking for a glimmer of hope. A chance the balding could eventually cease. A shot at therapy that would work. A step towards a cure.
Some clinical trials. Some I don’t qualify for. A lot of surveys about the state of our mental health. A lot more research to do.
I completed every survey available. It didn’t necessarily make me feel better. If nothing else, filling them out might have just further discouraged me.
The splotchy state of my condition places me in a holding pattern. I could still have a large amount of hair that might consistently grow and have to be shaved off. If I could just grow a few extra hairs, maybe this whole nightmare could end. Instead, we’re one step forward, one step back. Continuing. Then a couple rounds of one step forward, two steps back. One strand lost, one strand gained.