My second thought when I was diagnosed with Leukemia was “Shit, I’m going to lose my hair”. Call me vain if you will, but at least I’m honest.
I had seen the sad cancer movies, read the books, I knew it was going to happen. The dramatic fall of your last lock, and the shiny bald head that would be sported when it was too hot for the wig. Or, in my case, the bald head that became a statement because the wig was too itchy to tolerate.
What I’m saying it, even though I wasn’t looking forward to losing my long hair I knew it was coming and could prepare. What I wasn’t prepared for was the new Annie fro that was in my future 12 months from then.
I should say I’m happy to have hair because I am. I actually missed having bad hair days as silly as that sounds. It’s just that dealing with short, very curly, hair is not the easiest when you live in a climate that is 100% humidity 85% of the time. To say that I look like an adult Annie with brown hair is putting it nicely – because most days I think I’m trending more towards a masculine Richard Simmons.
The fro is out of control.
“So cut it,” you say. Clearly, you’ve never been bald. There is no way I am trusting some stranger with 1. a sharp instrument near my noggin and 2. to cut even a half a centimeter of these luscious locks I have so painfully grown! While the fro may be teetering on laughable, it’s my hair and it’s sacred to me right now. Until I find someone who I trust wholeheartedly the fro will stay in play.
Long live the white girl fro!