Pack Mentality

Exactly two months after my last chemo treatment, my hair started to grow back. Rather than being stark white, my scalp is mostly covered in a very Nixonian five o'clock shadow -- a foreshadow, if you will, of hair to come.

While I'm finally able to look at my bare head in the mirror without gasping, I still haven't let anyone else see me like this. I keep my head covered at all times, even around the house, and even while I'm sleeping. My head has an alien quality to it, which is just too much to share, even with those who are closest to me. My look undeniably screams cancer patient, which is what I am. But why hammer the point home.

On an airplane recently, I sat next to a young man, who had absolutely no hair on his scalp or on his arms. I wondered if his condition were permanent and what had caused it -- childhood illness, congenital condition, heredity, or pharmaceutical side effect. The average person has about 100,000 hairs on his or her head. This fellow had zero.

Sitting next to this man triggered my thinking about appearance and image and why they carry so much importance in our culture. It's not just hairlessness. Consider the fat kids who are teased by their peers, or the morbidly obese adults whom we privately judge. Think of Michael Jackson and his skin condition or the people who are either extremely short or extremely tall. None of these physical traits goes unnoticed. While these characteristics are involuntary, many people intentionally alter their appearances in dramatic ways -- multiple piercings, extensive tattoos, outlandish hair and dress.

After mulling on this for a bit, I came around to this conclusion: Appearance is such a fundamental core concern that it's probably linked to an anthropological need to be part of the pack. We're just like the canines. The kids who demand the expensive tennis shoes, and the gang members who wear specific colors are acting on the same basic pack mentality. Even those who opt for multiple tattoos and piercings are still signalling their membership in a sub-group (sub-pack?) of non-conformists. When you get down to it, aren't skin-deep differences, when paired with fear or ignorance, the recipe for racism, which is really just pack behavior gone bad.

So my horror at being a hairless female likely stems from a deeply held human characteristic that both urges us to project health and vigor and to keep our appearance within accepted norms. No one wants to be the sick dog with the bad fur. It also explains the wig issue. During this cancer experience, many people have gently suggested to me that a wig was the perfect solution. I understand their thinking to some degree because a wig would shield me from public scrutiny, essentially allowing me to appear normal and avoid inquires from the pack. Honestly, if I were in a situation in which I wanted to hide completely the fact that I had cancer -- say, I had a customer-service job or lots of interaction with young children -- I would have considered wearing a wig. But a wig is a band-aid at best. It may blanket the evidence of illness, but underneath the wig, you still have no hair. In the mirror, you're still the sick dog with the bad fur.

Unfortunately, chemo is often the only effective treatment for cancer, and hair loss is collateral damage. So you cope as best you can because you really have no choice. And you laugh at yourself for being happy because you have a five o'clock shadow on your head. It signals how far you've come. It signals an approaching return to health and vigor.