Well, shit.

     Took a shower this morning, and after drying my hair, noticed it all over the bathroom. I'd like to report that I had the blower set 0n PowerBlast(tm), but that's not the problem.

     Why is this so upsetting? I've lost my hair too many times to count; each time I fall apart. I mean, of all the things to worry about...

     There are some things that distinguish this occurrence. First, I guess I was under the impression from my doctor and the infusion nurses that hair loss is not a sure thing with topotecan, that some people don't lose any hair at all. And because I always assume I am the exception to the rule (for whatever reason), it took me by great surprise to see it blown all over the floor. Second, I haven't told anyone at school about chemotherapy; I don't know how many people even know about the cancer (I was a skinny pixie with a close crop when I started last fall, but my hair had grown in to the point where it looked, I thought, like a fashion decision). Now I'm going to have to explain no hair. Without coming off totally self-absorbed. Fuck.

     Third and by far most important: A has been waiting for my hair to "grow long" for as long as she can remember. (She was only a year and a half old when I got sick again in 2004.) Her hair is down to her bottom, and wild. Naturally, she wants my hair to look like hers, wants to be able to braid and bow my hair, to use the same "products," as she calls conditioner (where do they pick up the jazzy lingo?). Now, at age 5, she will need me to explain to her why I am taking medicine so powerful it leaves my head quite bereft. And so we usher in the conversation about Mama being sick, again. Doublefuck.

     At the moment, my hair is chin-length. Crossing my fingers that I won't lose all of it -- that it will thin, but only to a point, and that I may be able to get away with a super-short boy-cut. And not have to explain anything to people at school. And when A asks why I cut my hair, I will tell her, gently, gently, that some new medicine is making my hair misbehave, so it's better that I keep it short for a while.

     I've never worn a wig, and won't. Baseball caps in summer, scarves in winter are my speed. Still, regardless of what I do, I look like the Kancer Kid. People treat me differently, look at me differently. Know more about me (or think they do) than anyone has a right to know. It's not the loss of hair, it's the loss of privacy that is so upsetting, no matter how many times it happens.