I couldn't bring myself to cut my hair until I knew for sure I'd lose it. Even though I'd been told that I would. And when it hung on a little longer than I thought, I'd begun to think that maybe it would be different, that my hair wouldn't fall out after all. The day before Thanksgiving, I lost a lot of it in the shower. For the last day, I styled my hair as usual. Thanksgiving morning, before I hopped in the shower, I cut my hair off. Yesterday, I wore my wig for the first time.
I guess that I can honestly say it was a big wad of emotional angst over something that turned out to be simply a thing that you do because it's what needs doing. I did not cry. I did not grieve. I wished that I wasn't losing my hair, but I was, so I cut it. I studied myself in the mirror, thinking about the fact that 8 years ago, on Thanksgiving day 2000, my dad died of cancer. And then I put on my wig.