I’m a toucher. I touch my face, my lips, but once I get home from being in public (work, etc), I am mostly a hair toucher. I run my hands through my hair a LOT. It’s a habit. It started when I was younger – I wore so much product in my hair that at the end of the day, I would pick out the gel and hairspray – uncruchify it, if you will.
Now, though, my skin is weird and my hair is falling out. I have to moisturize constantly otherwise I feel like my body has been filled with sand from the inside. My face, however, doesn’t seem to change with exfoliation and moisture and it bugs me. So I touch. And probably make it worse.
I’ve always had a lot of hair. Not thick, just a lot of straight, brown hair. I went short years ago and have never looked back. It’s a running joke with my hairdresser – I make a game out of coming up with new ways to say “Hell No!” when she asks if I want to grow it out.
Now, when I run my hands through my hair, my hair comes out. It’s worse in the shower, of course, but still, dry or wet, my hair is thinning. I pull my hand away and look in awe at all of the strands that are left in my fingers. I guess I’m thankful it’s not falling out in clumps. And yet, it’s upset me more than I thought it would.
I suppose I could throw a baseball hat on – I am a jeans and t-shirt and hat kind of girl. I’m trying to decide if I should cut it shorter, leave it alone, or maybe buy some of those cute little caps that look oh so comfy, but scream “chemo patient” to me.
Yet one more thing in the world of fighting cancer that you can’t really prepare for. The little things that suddenly get larger than life.