I let it fly in the breeze and get caught in the trees

Well, I guess it was inevitable, but I passed another unfortunate marker in treatment today. This was the first day that a sizable amount of hair started coming out in my hands in the shower. No pain, no real trauma, but this is the one thing I imagine all cancer patients wish wouldn't happen. In my case, the emotional ramifications are mainly twofold: 1) going rapidly bald broadcasts to the external world that I'm sick with something deadly; and 2) I'm no longer beating the odds in my own family. As far back as can be remembered, on both sides of my family, all men save two have been almost completely uncovered on top by the time they were even 35, and I was one of those lucky two.
I suppose it's a mere vanity, but I'm betting that almost every man, even those who have shaved their heads, would rather have a full head of hair than not. Losing it is a signpost along the way to death, and who wants to face that this early in life, let alone any earlier? In my case, of course, there's the artificial twist of illness and treatment, but there are no guarantees that it will grow back healthily, even if I do. As with all the other side effects I've gone through, I'm trying to maintain my native sardonic stoicism, but the whole externality of this one makes it tougher to deal with. I can't simply hide from the world until I get hair again--that's crazy talk, isn't it? I've never been much of a hat wearer; I've got a couple baseball caps and a snazzy fedora, but the former, if worn out of context, seem to scream "cancer patient", and the latter, really, can only be worn as a statement of style that virtually no one would ordinarily carry well these days. And going brazenly bald certainly requires a self-consciouslessness that I have never possessed either. I suppose I've been spoiled by not having to deal with this issue earlier in life, especially given my genetic coding, so all those of my friends who have can get their licks in now!