Pollyism of the week

Iwas sitting in the chair at my old hair salon on the other side of town. I’d gone to this hairdresser for a special treatment only she can provide.

It was great to see her and we chatted away. Half an hour into the treatment, she said, “Polly, have you noticed a lot of hair in the shower when you wash your hair?”

“No!” I replied. I think I was lying. I have noticed my brush is a bit more clogged and when pulling my hair into an updo, I have noticed it seems to be way thinner through the front. I’ve been in massive shedding denial.

The last time my hair was so thin was after I stopped breastfeeding my youngest son. It’s a hell of a shock for some of us breastfeeding mums. There I was with thick, lush, shiny fabulous hair all through the pregnancy and breastfeeding for a year, and then, “Boom!” – I started to resemble Harvey Keitel. Well, it seems it’s happening again. Oh, no, for the love of God, it’s happening again!

“What should I do?” I asked in a whiny voice.

“Hmmm,” she replied. “I’d go see your doctor.”

Go see the flipping doctor? Oh, no, it’s true. I’m going bald!

I visited my doctor the very next day. “I’m going bald, Doc! Like, no kidding. My hair is seriously falling out. I know this because a nice haircare professional told me so.”

She cocked her head. “Do you want blood tests, Pol? We should check iron, blood count, hormone levels and thyroid.”

I left her office sure my thyroid had stopped working, I’m turning into a man and I have no iron in my body.

I received an online message with terrible news. Everything is normal! Iron great. Hormones good. Blood count good. Thyroid working perfectly. Darn! I made an appointment to discuss the results.

“’But Doc, my hair is falling out,” I whined. “Are you sure that thyroid result is normal?”

“Polly,” she said, smiling, “your thyroid is on the right side of perfect.”

She scooted closer to me in her chair. “Polly, have you been really stressed in the last six months?”

I’ve been so stressed, I could rent myself out as a human ball of anxiety. I’ve had lawyers, accountants, bankers, more lawyers, bosses, trolls, ratings ... My partner has to have fairly major surgery. Life has been pretty stressful. “A wee bit,” I replied. “Well, Polly,” the doctor continued, “I see lots of new hair follicles, so I think it was a reaction to being super-stressed.”

I’m relieved, but part of me wants a magic pill to make my hair grow like Rapunzel. It’s nice to know everything inside is working well, except I’m so wound up, my glorious mane of hair is coming away faster than you can say “Veet”. Part of me wants to believe I can sort it all out with a dose of zinc, iron or magic elixir.

As I was leaving, the doctor added, “Oh, and maybe you’d like to go to the gym?”

I’m desperate for the Rapunzel drug now!