I know it's ironic that on the day I'm writing about September being awareness month for Alopecia Areata I started my morning by having my scalp injected with steroids to help trigger hair growth in what is currently one of the largest patches I've ever had on my head. The AA theme this year is Look at Us! -- intended to be a rallying cry that shows pride and acceptance for AA sufferers -- and yet I plunked myself down into the dermatologist's chair and had him put steroids into my body in the hopes that it would help my hair grow back.
A contradiction? Yes and no.
Twelve years ago, when AA first waltzed into my life, I was pretty devastated. I watched in powerless fury as more and more of my hair came out in clumps in my brush, and bald patches took its place. It seemed never-ending to me, even though my AA was, and continues to be, mild compared to what other people go through. I learned to style my hair in ways that concealed it, came to hate windy days, and cringed when trains and other fast-moving vehicles whizzed past me, disturbing my coiff. Some years, my AA was really bad, and I lived with my hair in a bun. Other years, it was kind and left me alone, and lulled me into a false sense of hope ("Maybe it's gone for good. Maybe it will never come back.")
But it always came back.
In the beginning, I did the steroid injections because I was desperate to hold onto my image of myself. And hair was part of that image. Then, I began to worry that I was being too vain, too selfish. After all, it's only hair, right? And so many people struggle with far, far worse maladies.
Like my friend... I'll call her B. At a young age, B was hit with cancer, and went through round after round of chemo. Even though we always joked that B was a bit whiny with a low pain threshold, she showed everyone around just what she was made of: very stern stuff indeed. Her cancer went into remission for a while, giving her a break to focus on her young children. But then it came back full force. At just over 40, she's fighting for her life.
When I learned her cancer had come back, I went numb. I knew I should reach out to her, talk to her, tell her I love her. But I couldn't. I felt frozen (I'm so sorry, B). And so afraid. For her, and for me. If cancer could do this to her, and possibly take away her opportunity to see her children grow and thrive, it could for me, too. Each day is a blessing -- never take a single one for granted.
Learning about B's renewed battle with cancer made me think about how AA has affected my life -- and I realized it's so tiny, so minute in the grand scheme of things. Losing my hair is nothing compared to losing my health and possibly my life. And if, one day, my AA doesn't stop at patches and I lose all of my hair, then I will smile and cope. Just as B has done with a demon so much larger.
In the meantime, I will fight it. That means having injections if I feel I need them. I need to do what makes sense for me, to be happy and balanced. I know B would approve, and that's all the backing I need.
Happy Alopecia Areata Awareness Month, everyone. If you can afford to donate, your money can help children living with alopecia have a more normal life. A worthy cause :)
