Breaking up with my hair.

The one thing everyone seems to know about chemo is that the receiver goes bald. This one side effect of many is most visible, and it flouts our fundamental concept of femininity.

I had a friend, years back, who would shave her head a few times a year to celebrate leaving her patriarchal marriage for a woman. Her husband always insisted she have long flowing hair. She jettisoned the hair and the husband for happiness.  

Now I  have a young friend who shaves her glorious head when she wishes for change, most recently after a breakup. It is, it seems, a liberation and an expression of control, both things women struggle with in their lives.  She takes my hand and rubs it over her stubble, sleek as silk, warm and cozy as a puppy. 

My hair has been a friend and a bane at once. Presumptions are made about blonds; I've offered students a point of extra credit if they can tell me a blond joke that makes me laugh. I seek to exploit the stereotype, mocking my occasional blond behavior. But I have always been aware that I live in a culture that rewards my straight blond hair. I have probably gotten away with things I shouldn't have, more than a few speeding tickets in my youth, better seats on planes in my business travel days, and probably many a thing I wasn't even conscious of, like better grades and jobs. 

So becoming bald will be revelatory, much like when the right side of my face suddenly caved in, paralyzed by a rare form of shingles that attacked my facial muscles. I learned fast how someone who looks and sounds funny can be treated. But I also learned about the random compassion of strangers and near strangers; living in a tiny Scottish village at the time, I was prayed for, smiled at, and given the choicest fish by the fishmonger who drove around town twice a week, honking near my door. The Arbroath smokies I was sold were the plumpest and juiciest, and my cod was practically wiggling. 

Becoming bald will have its lessons, too. I know I will miss running my hands through my hair when I'm bored or flirting, and will have to seek new ways to express a few things. Unlike my sudden facial paralysis, I'm gradually breaking up with my hair, being nice to it one minute, and distaining it the next, putting a bit of distance between us so that when it starts falling onto the computer keyboard, I can walk in and shave it off, remorseless. 

I'll let you know how it goes.