The above is essentially how the most recent conversation with the general physician went, as have many others before it with other doctors who cautioned me to limit a particular physical activity before I made matters worse.
The physical activity I’m supposed to limit this time is combing my hair, because my fingers aren’t staying in the joints at their base when I do.
That means shorter hair, which means still less of me being me, as if being 20 pounds underweight wasn’t enough less-ness.
Not giving in and going short-short, not without a fight. I thinned handfuls out with special shears, and that didn’t work. I switched shampoos and conditioners – twice – and that didn’t work. Next I’ll try having a pro three or four inches off and throw a perm into it. If that doesn’t work, I’ll “frost” it, which will thin a lot of strands. If that doesn’t work, I’ll lighten all of it, and thin every strand.
I like being recognizable to myself by some feature when I pass by a mirror somewhere (I don’t have any hanging in the house). My long hair was serving that purpose.
And I am of THAT generation. You know the one. If I have to lose it, will I get over it? Absolutely. And maybe I’ll even feel better because, for once, I’ve bitched at length about a loss in progress.
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I’m so sorry to read this Susan. Though I’ve never had long hair, I do like having control over how I style mine, and loss of this would be really hard. I hope you find a solution that works for you.
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Thanks for the sympathy, Su. The day after I wrote this post, I caught up with some friends I hadn’t seen in years. They told me that two other friends I’d also lost touch with had passed on some time ago, which served to remind me that if you’re well enough to bitch about your health, perhaps you just shouldn’t. I’ll leave this post up to remind me, because I’ll likely backslide (probably sooner rather than later). Again, thank you!
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