Hair Glorious Hair

Will you go bald? That was the first question I got when I told my kids what was going on. Really? They were worried about what I was going to look like. Hair for many people is part of who they are. Part of their heritage and lineage. It provides a bit of their personality. It has been what unities many and divides many. Color and texture of hair has been a tell tale sign for many if you had a trace of African in you. Weather you could pass or not. Golden rays provided a small prospect to escape from Hitler or to be doomed along with many others. Hair gives many the chance to show their proud colors. To sport a punk rock streak or a heavy metal tie. To give a node to your allegiance. What team you route for and where your heart lies. For some of us, hair is the thing we must let go of. It may be age pulling at us hunting and teasing us. Or it may be what the kids asked. Will I still have hair? That is the question that may tug at many like me. A stage 4 Cancer victim.

Victim is what I call it because you have no choice. It falls on you like a mysterious tsunami. Unwanted, out of the blue, making you helpless. For me, and maybe for many, my hair was something I had always struggled with. As a very young child my hair was fine dark brown with streaks of red golden rays. Soft louis curls rung around my face. Like a Goldendoodle whose hair was way too long. As I got older and my hormones began to kick in, my hair turned darker and thicker and there was no denying - I had African ancestry. My curls tightened so small a bobby pin was just enough to get through. My mom did not know what to do. Although she was made of much of the same blood as I was - her hair was quite different. She had little knowledge of how to deal with my hair - except what her mother had done. Try to tame it. Make it and me more like the rest of everyone else. Relaxer time.

By the time I was 13 it was an old ritual I became used to. Sitting on the floor of the living room while my Mom tried to comb thick smelly guppy white chemicals though my hair - to tame it. It worked and many would say this chemical was a god send. To assimilate - just a little more. Meant to not get stared at, teased, harassed or worse. My Mom was from the generation that truly knew what that meant. I, a baby of the 70's, did not understand till I was much older. My hair was a subject of much angst and debate in my family. Try telling a teen that you can’t go to that solon or this solon - they won’t know what to do with you. Of the two girls in my family, my hair was much much thicker and curlier than my older sisters. But her chiseled features echoed beauty beyond mine. We each had demons to contend with. I, my hair and she - she was the darkest in the family about two shades on a paint chip darker. We had the same parents - but our paths of DNA is still a mystery. As a kid, I used to think, together we made one whole gorgeous African American. Secretly we were mixed Hispanic girls brought out of the barrio to the suburbs to magically assimilate. To say the least - we both struggled with this in our own ways.

Hair is my nemesis. Before we started to chemically relax my hair, I can remember being called Medusa, along with many other names. Yet my hair defines who I am. Who I belong to and where I come from.

All hair is composed of dead cells. DEAD!! All this fuss over something that is DEAD! All mammals have hair. That is the one thing that set us apart from the rest of the animal kingdom. Hair protects us. Helps cool and heat us. Helps with perspiration. Some call hair their own organ - sort of. The color and texture of your hair is about its shape. Simply put, if your hair has more of an "air gap" it may hold more of the natural pigments called Melanin and the shade of it will look different. Melanin is found in most organisms.

I am no chemist, biologist or Doctor and I barely understand how it all works. That being said, Melanin is responsible for hair and skin color. Melanin is made by a multistage chemical process, called melanogenesis. This is where the oxidation of the amino acid, tyrosine causes a bunch of small pigment molecules to stick together to make a long chain. What this says is that oxygen helps make Melanin into a long chains that fills in the “air gaps”. The kid brain in me wants to say it is sort of, like photosynthesis - for color. Brown and black pigments are the most common found/made in Melanin. Gray hair is the lack of or less Melanin in the "air gap" and mixes with what pigment is there causing salt and pepper or gay looking hair. Melanin causes tanning when exposed to UV Radiation. Yet it has an absorbing protective ability. This is why it is believed that some people of color are slower to burn.

What about the texture of hair? That was what I really struggled with. I had always thought my hair to be thick because well - it is thick. I do have a lot of hair. That is part of it. When my Dad started to go bald he always asked me to give him some of my hair, like it was something I could remove and paste on him. Part of the thickness I perceived was part of the amount of hairs “follicles” I have coming out of my head. Like I said, I have a lot of hair, I always have. But I know it had to be more than this. When researching I found that my hair feels and looks this way because it is less circular in shape and more of an ellipse. It is squashed, nearly flat, like a ribbon that then gets curled at the end of a bow for a present. Though I have protection for my skin for some reason the natural oils found in everyone's hair can't slide down curly hair. This causes a rough coarse brittle feel. Even with producing more oil, the hair can't spread it out evenly through the thick forest of curls. Without lubrication the hairs becomes brittle and breaks more, often causing shorter hair for really curly heads. That’s it! Texture comes from the shape and lack of even oil distribution.

All the long and tough fights with a brush, comb, electric hair straightener and chemicals, had NOT changed my hair. New growth always came in dense and rough. I had to either accept it or continue to fight. All that longing of long ago to fit in as a kid needed to be let go. I did let go. Thanks to the natural movement that saw people like Oprah saying that it was ok; allowed me the courage to be free. Enough was enough. I will not wholeheartedly change who I am. My thick mess of tight curls are me. Also, Cancer helped me see that. I stopped “relaxing” and started to grow out my hair. For the first time in my life I accepted what my hair was. I told my stylist. Cut it back, as short as I dare - to the bottom of my ears. That was that, I never looked back. February 15, 2014 changed my outlook on my identity. My hair was a short mess of curls with relaxed ends halfway up. I did not know then if I would keep any of my hair, or how much courage I had to keep it that way. Seven month later and my relaxed ends were gone, only beautiful curls remained. I LOVED it! What I would tell that brave woman then was that seven years later would be wholly different.

For five wonderful years I sported very short wonderful natural curly hair. Many admired my hair, the thick lush curls. Perfectly spiraled as if each curl was made over a thin pencil, naturally. I began to love the complements. I finally felt my own. Confident in a part of me that had to be stuffed for years. Then Chemo happened.

This time the Cancer needed more from me. A 21 daily dose with 7 days off, of a little purple pill. To repeat over and over and over. For the rest of my life! My oncologist said to think of it like a person with diabetes. They need their insulin every day to live. Well living was what I was going to choose. Hair or no hair. Almont a year and a half into a nearly daily chemo regiment, my hair is still there - but different. Very large clumps come out every time I wash my hair. So less thickness leads to less hair. Also the chemicals of chemo slow down every cell that grows fast. From nails to skin to hair. So slowly growing hair. A plus, shaving my legs rarely has to happen. A con, the hair in my nose is no longer there to keep out contaminants. The chemo has changed the shape of my hair. Ironically it is more like the hair my Mom tried to give me as a young teen and I tried to mimic as a young adult. Thinner, less curly, more controlled. I used to worry about new growth coming in all matted. Now I worry about any new growth and if it will be curly at all. Cancer has not only given me freedom to embrace who I am. It has stolen from me that strong confident Afro Latina. When looked at, most would guess - Yup she has African in her, somehow. Now, I am not so sure. As I morn for many things cancer stole from me. I need to answer the question my kids asked me. Will I go bald? Well I have not gone bald. Thanks to the thickness and shape God bestowed on me. I most likely will not go bald due to the Chemo. But I have lost something. Something I am now searching for.