Part 7: Chin up, buttercup

August 21, 2023

On the last day of my work retreat in Nashville, I met up with Donna, my badass Russian beauty of a boss from a previous company, a true force of nature .  If there was anything I needed at the end of that week, it was her - a friend and colleague who knew me so well. In her unwavering gaze, I glimpsed my growing fear, a stark contrast to my usual image of strength. She convinced me to raise my hanging head (literally) and make eye contact again.  She told me to focus on the fight, not the blows.  She was the shot of Russian vodka I needed to ignite the bravery and fighting spirit back into my soul. I needed to take action, NOW, before it worsened. Inspired and miles above the clouds in the quiet hum of the airplane ride home from Nashville, I donned my analytical thinking cap. I was going to consult myself back into health, dammit. 

*A foreshadow ^

Step 1: Start at the beginning...

Inflammation.  It’s the cause of disease, right?  Okay, let’s start there.  Wait, is that not right?  Who cares, just START SOMEWHERE.  If inflammation is the enemy, let's starve it with an anti-inflammatory diet. Farewell, champagne, my bubbly friend; hello, greens and lentils.  Supplement swaps? After some furious internet research, I decided to upgrade my arsenal with Spirulina and Chlorella, joining forces with Biotin, Calcium, Collagen, and Vitamin C in the fight.

But it just keeps going...

The next day, some family arrived for a Florida getaway, offering a diversion from my normally hair-obsessed thoughts.  Yet, the scalp whispers wouldn't be completely silenced. The tingles, the angry red patches, the new bald spot - all a stark message demanding attention. Washing my hair offered temporary relief from the tingling, but the fear of losing handfuls of hair with each wash was constant.  A new bald spot emerged, this time defiantly on the top of my head, impossible to hide.  The knot in my stomach tightened.

Later that week, my friend, neighbor, and fellow Hashimoto’s warrior stopped to chat as our dogs did their morning sniffs. I showed her my bald spot.  Shockingly, she shared her tale of similar hair loss.  Data points were connecting, theories were solidifying. Even my aesthetician, a direct witness to my thinning mane that week, added a piece to the puzzle: "COVID did the same to me!" she exclaimed. Could this be a real enemy, lurking in the shadows?

Denial denied...

And then FINALLY, my first dermatologist appointment.  Anticipation thrummed in my veins that day. I finally received the official verdict: Alopecia. A biopsy of my scalp was taken in order to reveal the battle's duration, to determine if this was the temporary kind or permanent kind of alopecia.  OMG, PERMANENT KIND?  That thought had literally never crossed my mind.  This unimaginable possibility sent my mind reeling.  Could I have this the rest of my life??

Forty-seven steroid shots in my scalp later, the nurse sent me out the door with some topical medications to begin using.  (Ladies, if you think Botox hurts, try 47 steroid shots in your scalp). She'll call me when the biopsy comes back.  It was a long drive home.

Back at my desk, a post-it note I wrote after Nashville with just one word, “RESILIENCE”, stared at me in its yellow, glowing glory. “Chin Up,” it seemed to remind me. Yes, chin up indeed dear readers, this girl of yours was DOWN.  But onward we go, awaiting the biopsy results, armed with my anti-inflammatory arsenal, my potions and lotions, refusing to surrender. The next chapters may be uncertain, but I'll face them head-on, story to tell, hair or no hair. Read Part 8: Wigging Out now!

Continue Reading

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