Having waited two days past the time when I was told to expect my hair to start coming out, it kicked off yesterday afternoon. Not in a huge clump; I did not lift my head from the pillow to discover I had left my hair behind or anything as dramatic as that. (Picture the Harry Potter films- the tree on Hogwarts grounds that marks the changing of the seasons- autumn shedding of leaves: very evocative) Not exciting at all. Just sitting in the chair in the living room, surrounded by boxes and cleaning supplies, finishing my lunch and absentmindedly combing my fingers through recently-released-from-cleaning-necessitated hair tie, and there it was. Not a clump, but far more strands than were entirely called for, and clearly a sign of worse things to come.

Bugger. Really hoped I'd got away with it.

Don't care what anyone might tell you, or how fore-warned you might think you are: seeing your hair coming out is a chilling moment. I would have sat down, had I not already been sitting down. And, of course, it was two o'clock in the afternoon, so everybody was at work or asleep, so there wasn't anyone around to moan to about it. Then my friend Maggie sent me an email asking whether I want avocados and brie when she comes (to which the answer is always yes, incidentally) and my other friend Amy in Boston rolled off the couch where she'd fallen asleep and signed into FB at silly o'clock at night. Excellent. I have need of companionship, and two of my bezzie chums let me know that they're around. Cheers, cosmos! The two of them helped put my equilibrium back in place, and the afternoon proceeded.

If I'd followed initial advice, I would have shaved it immediately after starting chemo. That seemed precipitous and unnecessary, and I didn't really want to do it before term ended unless I had to. The kids were all nicely convinced that I was healthy-ish, and it is a pretty dramatic turn to go from brunette to bald in one fell shave. Besides, I was still hoping to perform at the staff dinner, and didn't want the photos of the evening to be unflattering. Am vain. Yes.

So I delayed what I hoped was not the inevitable, and I ended up keeping my hair- my suddenly incredibly thick and healthy hair, sob- after the 'deadline' for when it should have started to fall out. The roots started showing, which always makes me feel a bit icky, but I didn't want to colour it in case I jinxed my good fortune. Ah, well.

There had been a plan for when it started to shed. Gerald and Justin had a set of clippers that were all oiled up and ready to go at a moment's notice, and a plan to shave their own heads in solidarity. I don't much go in for solidarity head-shaving, as it happens, but they are adults, and if they think that they'll feel more comfortable around me if they too are bald, well who am I to tell them no?

However, it all started in the middle of the afternoon, the very afternoon when Justin (and Michael and Tonya and their children :() had flown off to the States, and when Gerald and Annie were both at Summer School working. I am not known for patience, and now that the great molt had begun, was determined to beat it to the finish line. I called Annie, and we decided that we would go to the hairdressers' together to get it done. She needed to be there for it; as impatient as I am, I would not rush into that without making sure she was engaged in the process. She wanted to be with me and it was important that she help choose the means of it. She didn't want Gerald to do it- 'Too much like a voodoo ritual' she said. By the time she got home from school to come with me, Gerald and another friend, Kim, were both also back and came along with us.

We set off in a late afternoon drizzle. They carried their umbrellas, while Gerald entertained us with stories of being swept away by high winds, Poppins-like, when he was a child. I did not use mine, liking the feel of the rain in my hair. (Lord, she has a flair for melo-drama, doesn't she, our Patti?) We wandered around the neighbourhood surrounding the apartment complex to each of the five hairdressers', finding them all shut. At 4:45 on a Tuesday?? Is Tuesday 'don't get a haircut' day in Korea? It all seemed oddly random. We found the last one locked, but the shopkeeper next door pointed out that the owner had just stepped across the street for a stroll and some air. Gerald ran after her, asking her to come back for our business. He skipped a little enroute, for our amusement. It worked.

The hairdresser looked a little nonplussed at our arrival, and even moreso by the odd gestures that we started making to tell her that I wanted her to shave my head. It was a tall order, I see in retrospect: four agitated foreigners, asking her to open her shop up especially so that she can- WHAT? She was one of the only people I've encountered for whom the word, 'chemotherapy' did not seem to work in translation, and when I obligingly pulled out a little handful of hair to show her what was happening, could only gape at me, completely uncomprehending. I do not think me crying helped. It must have terrified her. I know that she really knew what we wanted, but it was all so impossible, and if she got it wrong and shaved my head and that wasn't what I was after- well, there's an international incident on a scale she could only have nightmares about. Never mind the North.

We got as far as the chair, the cape, and the clippers, and I swear her hands were shaking. That's when it finally occurred to me to get Kim to call Connie. Ah, Connie. She will never know how much her interventions matter. Kim was all business:

K: Connie, it's Kim. We're at the hairdressers' with Patti.
C: (on speaker, comprehending immediately) Pass the phone over.
K: You're on speaker.
C: (flurry of Korean)
Nervous Hairdresser: (nervous Korean, side-ways glances at me)
C: (More emphatic Korean)
NH: Ooooooohhhhh.
P: Thanks, Connie.
C: No problem. Good luck.

She was pretty determined not to take it all off, and bless her, I didn't want to push her too much farther. I think she may have had a coronary.

So, how does it look? Not terrible, from the neck up. Not quite GI Jane, despite what Kim assures me. I look remarkably like my Aunt Arletta. I shall go crazy with the eyeliner and bright lipstick, shall wear big earrings (and possibly carry a crystal ball) and shall temporarily at least, look like one of those very flamboyant and very unattractive drama teachers, all cigarette holders and violent gesticulations and 'Darling!!'s. And terrify every handsome man for miles around. All four of them.

Sigh.