Hair Today

When I was growing up, I got used to people remarking about my younger sister's hair. Not only was it a beautiful carrot red, but it was long and even in braids hung down almost to the back of her knees. She rarely wore it loose because it got tangled up on doorknobs and accidentally shut in car doors. Still, her gorgeous locks were a show stopper. At one point I started calling her Hairy because it fit her so well. Of course, she didn't appreciate the aptness of it and took offense at the moniker, so I stopped calling her that - at least to her face.

Though we shared a room almost all of our growing up years, we were as different as peas and carrots. She was neat and organized and quiet while I was loud and boisterous and thought of my room as a quick stopover place where I could shuck off one set of clothes and grab another. It was hard on her. I am a difficult if not insensitive person to live with.

Today she asked me to come with her to a wig salon. I explained that I wasn't doing wigs. They ones I could afford looked unnatural and tacky, so I had determined to forget them altogether and stick with hats and scarves which was working nicely. Still, she had done some research and was willing to pick up the tab, so I climbed into her van, sceptical at best. I suppose wasting a bit of time couldn't hurt.

I was amazed at the selection available. It was nothing like the cancer center shop or the online sites I had checked. The wigs were much more realistic - some of them had special inserts that made it look like real scalp showing when you parted the hair. We tried on every imaginable style and color just to see the effect. It didn't take long to identify what looked good and what didn't work well. My natural color of hair, the dark brown I was born with, no longer matches my skin tone.

Short and layered was my forte, and nothing too thick. Before long, one wig rose to the top of the list. There was no denying that while there were a few that looked OK, and several that worked acceptably, this one was far and away hands down the winner. I gulped at the price - a small fortune - but my sister said it was OK, so we got it. Truth be told, there was little in the shop I could have afforded.

The hairdresser spent some time fitting the wig to my head, and then shaping the hair to best frame my face. A custom job! She showed my how to put it on, how to take care of it, how to avoid melting it. Then she also showed me tons of ideas about how to wear scarves. She has helped many many cancer patients through this sort of situation.

I figured being bald was just part of the shtick. I was surprised at what a lift having hair again gave me. I found myself smiling a lot and admittedly the wig makes me look about 20 years younger. Who wouldn't feel better looking younger! Its a miracle - get chemo, look younger. Wow. Totally unexpected.

My sister could rightly call me Hairless instead of Hairy and get me back for being a snotty big sister back in the day. But she kindly didn't. She just thoughtfully gave me a new lease on life. Here's to sisters, big, little and in between!