I nodded my head the whole time I was reading the story of her hair falling out. It was so close to the play by play I experienced. I had full wavy hair halfway down my back, I had great hair. Men loved my hair, that sexy touseled look.

I knew it was going to fall out when the chemo started, yet everyone liked to boost me up with an "it doesn't happen to everybody" speech that included one exception or another. But I knew it was only a matter of time.

The doctor told me it wouldn't start until after the second treatment, but it started about a week before. My mom had asked me to go wig shopping a week earlier, and I yelled at her to leave me alone until I actually needed it. It wasn't a fun girls day out for me. One week later, I called her. "It's time" I told her through tears.

Two weeks after my first chemo, I ran my hands through my hair and more than a few strands came out. I quickly called a friend, terrified. The next morning, I woke up with the back of my hair matted, and went to brush it. The entire knot came out in my brush. I cried so hard. I thought I had some more time. Not that it would've been any different.

The gentleman at the wig salon was the one that let me know it would all be gone within a couple of days. I thought it would just thin out, I didn't realize it happens so quickly. My "stylist" advised me to just buzz it all off. I couldn't. I had some offers for help, but that meant whoever did it would see me bald. I was determined that no one would see me bald.

Two days later, after the hair was everywhere in the house, in the bed, in the laundry, on the floors, in the sink, I looked into the mirror and grabbed the scissors. I had never had short hair in my life. I went to town and cut the whole head of fuzz down to about an inch. I tried to take my wet/dry razor to it but it got jammed, guess it's not meant for the head. After that, I would not buzz or shave the rest. I had thin sideburns and a patch at the back of my neck. The double sided wig tape cleaned off a section at the top, like a waxing treatment. If I was going to go completely bald, it had to happen on it's own. I wouldn't enable it.

I have a collection of wigs. People joke that I'm addicted. The truth is that none of them look real to me. None of them ARE me. I keep buying the next one hoping that one's going to look or feel better. They never are.

Around the house, I wear bandanas. My daughter accidentally wallked in on me in the shower and I was mortified. She was fine, but I wasn't. I'm okay wearing my "do-rag" in front of friends or family, but despite the multitude of requests, I refuse to show anyone.

Next Thursday is my sixth and last treatment (G-d willing). The doctor told me the hair would start growing back after my fifth, so daily I've been inspecting. I could swear I'm starting to see that blonde peach fuzz developing - which is interesting since I've normally got dark brown hair.

I came onto the web, trying to find out how long it would take to grow back, but there's no consistency. All I can do is wait it out. And I hate that.