I went to the hospital a few weeks ago to visit a friend. I asked for her room number at the information desk, then weaved my way through the halls until I found it. It was not a private room. I glanced in and saw that each of the four beds held a white-haired patient, so I turned around and went back to the nurses’ station to check the number again (my friend’s hair is salt and pepper–mostly pepper).

The nurse told me that the room number was correct. Confused, I went back. The patient in the first bed waved me in. It was my friend, almost bald with just a few white tufts. She apologized for the confusion, telling me that she’d lost most of her hair a few years ago because of a thyroid problem and now wears a wig.

The experience shocked me. Not because of how different she looked, but because I had unknowingly used hair as my primary identifier. I didn’t even look at the faces.

I’ve thought about this since then, and it’s made me more aware of how difficult it must be when people lose their hair. Hair is so visible, so unique to each person, such a part of how we look.

I’ve never really liked my hair. Many, many times I’ve wished for something different, some new look. I’ve tried to change my hair, but I always seem to fall into the same old patterns. Maybe because it’s what I’m used to–it’s what makes me look like me.

Tell me your hair stories, especially if changing your hair has ever changed you.

Related posts:

1. Speechless
2. I was a teenage redhead
3. REUNION “the act or process of being brought together as a unified whole”