Falling again...

If you have read my blog in the past, you might remember all those tear-filled posts about my hair falling out.  Before my thyroid was controlled ... before I even knew it was my thyroid ... I despaired that the only thing I have ever liked about my body was falling out.  Oh, the times I spent huddled on the floor of the tub in my showers with such large collections of strands of my hair in my hands!  Well, imagine my despair when I learned that Sjögren's Syndrome can make your hair fall out.

I haven't been writing about it this time round.  And I haven't shed any tears.  Now, I cannot shed any tears, but still I have had no tears for my hair.  Mostly this is because I am grieving for ever so much loss that I cannot spare anything of me to grieve this loss.  SIGH.

A month or so ago, I was all ready to cut off my hair.  I talked with my dear friend Becky about it.  I collected photos of styles to bring in to the woman who did such a good job on my hair last Spring.  And I made an appointment.  I was planning to cut off my hair because I was weary of the pain in my head.  My chronic headaches have been especially difficult to endure now that I cannot take my beloved, always effective ibuprofen.

But as I was getting ready to leave, it dawned on me that my hair might not be there to grow out again should I find help for the headaches.  That thought shocked me into stillness.  I haven't done the math, but most of my life I have had long hair.  It is a part of my identity to me.  And, as I said, it is the only thing I have ever liked about myself.

When the shock wore off, I decided to just leave my hair along for now.  I mean, with the distressing cluster of strands coming out in the showers, whenever I brush my hairs, and if I run my fingers through it, surely there will come a time when cutting my hair will be prudent.  I shall be imprudent for now.  Wearing buns that make my head ache.  Wearing silly braids at 50.  Wearing my hair down even when the heat is felling me.

Truth be told, it isn't just the hair in my hands that make my showers difficult.  There is ill health that follows the strain of the shower, especially the effort of having my arms raised above my head.  There is the drop in blood sugar that usually comes after.  And there is the upsettenessed that comes whenever I have to face my own nakedness and the need to touch my body.  SIGH.

So, having to face yet another loss and having to endure yet another battle is despairing.  But I have no tears this time at the sight of my strands of hair falling away from my head once more.  Simply resignation.