I was diagnosed with alopecia 8 years ago. It started out as areta alopecia, which a beautiful Latin name for ugly bold spots. The first time we noticed, my five year old had jumped over me as I lay in the living room floor and landed on the ends of my hair. A large clump came out. I gasped, “You pulled out my hair.” Then I realized, “And it didn’t hurt. Joe!” My husband carefully examined the spot and then called for the boys and began the interrogations of who had Naired my head, why, and how. It was a real CSI experience. After several grueling hours, the bright light bulb burned out (I’m joking of course), and we decided a doctor’s visit was in order.
Test after test after test, I could tell you a number of things that happily weren’t wrong with me, but still no conclusive answer as to what was. I continued to live in relative baldness obscurity. Some hair days were better than others. Some stints of time required a hat or scarf, some just a careful hair style. It wasn’t until our 8th miscarriage, the one that nearly destroyed me once and for all, that I was ordered genetic testing and discovered some fun and exciting things. #1 I am a translocation carrier and have scrambled DNA. My babies were either getting too much DNA or not enough and thus could not survive. #2 One of the alleles involved had been linked to alopecia.
I’ve come a long way in the past 8 years, but it hasn’t been easy. As you look at the picture of the beautiful henna my husband painted on my head, you may think, “how fun”. Happily, now I can say it is. But I’ll back track in other post you so can follow that journey.