(Just about) no hair! Pics at the bottom.

'Alopecia' is the medical term for it: hair loss. Often the most obvious side effect of chemotherapy. It's curious to me how this most benign and painless part of the cancer treatment process is often the one most discussed. 'Will you lose your hair?' is probably the most common question I've gotten after someone learns I have cancer. Why does hair matter so much to us?

There's just something about a woman and her hair. There's the physical beauty of it: the long vertical lines that frame a feminine face, the volume that balances the lower body, the forgiving distraction from facial flaws by twirling strands up and away from the face. There's the emotional value of it - anyone remember the 'Herbal Essences' commercial with the woman who refuses a date because 'I'm washing my hair tonight'? We love our hair; we love having a good hair day; we love having it stroked and smelled and enjoyed by someone special. There's even something spiritual about it: Paul writes to the Corinthian church, 'Does not the very nature of things teach you that if a man has long hair, it is a disgrace to him, but that if a woman has long hair, it is her glory?' (I had to chuckle about a man's long hair being a disgrace - Nashville is running high in the disgracefully long-haired men department, I dare say!)

It all comes down to this: we love our hair. I love my hair. I said goodbye to half of it a couple weeks ago and goodbye to (almost!) the rest tonight. After nearly padding the shower drain shut last night with fallen strands and waking up this morning with my pillow looking like a dog had slept on it, I knew it was time.

Sam, ever the talented jack-of-all-trades, has always cut his own hair, so tonight he did both of ours. Brave man. (And a nice head of hair - brown and thick, with a few brilliant white hairs sprinkled in.)

Now I get to make use of the various scarves and hats that friends and relatives have kindly given me. I'm not into the wig thing at this point. I just can't get over looking someone in the face and knowing I have a wig on and knowing that they know it too but we both agree not to mention it. Just too weird.

Here you go - our hair-rowing adventure: (sorry, I couldn't resist!)

I had SOME hair left.

Poor Sam, he didn't want to see my hair go.

Sometimes a kiss makes it a little better.

Sam went first.

Then me.

All gone.

Same haircut for the whole family (baby's asleep and exempt from photo).

Aaaaaand this is what I would look like as a boy.

So Sam made the point that 'you're still going to wake up with hair on your pillow. It's just going to be shorter.'

Yeah. But this is as far as I can go for now, man oh man.