She Magazine APRIL 2016 | Page 26

Marti Miller-Willoughby contributing writer The Hanirt Appare IT WAS NOT SO VERY LONG AGO THAT I WAS STRESSING horribly about presented yet another challenge, this time to avoid dropping hairs into my post-sepsis hair loss. What began as a minor assault on my somewhat every dish served, causing the mildly amused husband to slowly pull fragile ego turned rather quickly into a full-on battle to stem the tide of out the offending strands from nearly every other mouthful – much like what I was certain would soon be a bald-as-a-cue-ball reflection in the watching a child-eating-spaghetti video in rewind mode. Evidently he was mirror. hoping for some special award for his acting talent. Pfftt. It came out in huge wads. Showering became a terrible ordeal to find This hair loss thing continued until one day I began to notice it was out if I would again cover the entire back wall with hairs that, just before slowing down to a reasonable amount – not unlike “normal” hair loss. Of stepping in, had been precariously attached to my scalp. I won the course, this happened just in time for the aforementioned dermatologist challenge more often than not, much to my shame and horror. And comb- appointment, causing the entire office staff to conjure up Shakespeare ing my wet hair was yet another nightmare not on Elm Street. I could, quite (as in Much Ado about Nothing). The doctor did prescribe some special literally, fill the bathroom sink with the hair that fell with each comb-out shampoo, along with a few other potions for stress related eczema. All session. I began to avoid showers, which of course presented other issues, worked well, though I smelled a bit like a pharmaceutical sales bag. until I could not stand myself any longer. 26 APRIL 2016 Well now it’s back…with a vengeance. The underlying new-growth hair This process went on for what seemed like endless weeks until my family is wildly curly – and not in an adorable Shirley Temple kind of way either. It doctor was able to get me an appointment with a dermatologist that wasn’t resembles a well-used scouring pad -stubbornly dull and gray in another eternity in the future, at which time I would surely resemble a bald appearance, and lacking any semblance of shine or sheen. It feels like a eagle, minus the lofty national bird status. All other patterns and tests were cotton wad and behaves about as calmly as a “long-tail cat in a room full of returning to “normal”, so the thought was that it was perhaps just another rocking chairs” when a grooming device is introduced to it. lovely gift from the cleverly nasty trifecta of aging, stress, and menopause. Oh how I complained loudly about it to anyone who would listen. Every The ego-thing was bad enough, but I was embarrassed on a regular basis time I looked in the mirror I was freshly assaulted by the new hair apparent. by the hairs that insisted on dropping all over the house. The living room It was an inheritance I could do without, though not literally, or we’d be chair I usually chose to sit in resembled an overgrown chia pet. Cooking right back to the dreaded bald eagle problem again. SHEMAGAZINE.COM