![]() ![]() It was all an act to cover the sharp edges that poked - at worries, at fears. I was never just the "Devin" everyone knew as the perky editor and Suzy Homemaker Chef. I convinced myself that I needed to skip the emotional aspect of my hair loss and be okay - for him, and so that I didn't become a complete failure at this major life step.īut while I tried hard to ignore it, losing my hair is what finally cracked my happy, bubbly facade. When my hair first started to go, my ex would say over and over, "I just want you to be okay." I had moved away from my family, friends and everything else I knew to live with him in San Francisco. Throughout July 2015, a simple task like combing my hair after a shower left this behind in the sink. The average brunette has about 100,000 strands of hair on her scalp. I figured the worst was bound to happen, and I would rather be prepared than caught off-guard. Throughout my mid-twenties, I convinced myself that I had everything from stomach ulcers to throat cancer. ![]() By night, I'd spend hours Googling my irrational fears - pouring over message boards, Q&A pages, WebMD - because I needed to prepare. Those results finally convinced me, but I just invented another health scare and then another, leading up to July 1, 2015, when those first clumps of hair filled my sink.īy day, I was a polished young professional, known for my bubbly personality at the fitness magazine where I worked before moving to San Francisco, and I maintained that veneer whether I was at drinks with colleagues or working out with friends. And then a third time when I had my annual OBGYN check-up at the end of the year. I convinced myself that there was still room for error and called the urgent care office to speak with the doctor again, but he declined, so I got tested again. Soon that certificate of health started to feel more like a Band-Aid. The doctor printed and signed a physical piece of paper as a constant reminder, whenever I needed it, that I was negative. I knew better, and I sure wasn't proud of it, but nothing could stop my "what ifs." When I still felt frozen in fear a few weeks later, I went to an urgent care facility in Manhattan and got a rapid response HIV test. ![]() Afterward, I convinced myself that the diluted spot of blood I'd seen was infected, and that it somehow infected me. One frigid January evening at dinner with friends in New York, I used a toilet that I realized was dirty only after turning around to flush it. But the idea that I have no clue why or when my alopecia started is a lie.īefore I had an irrational fear of fainting in the shower, I had an irrational fear of HIV. Whenever I explain alopecia areata to someone in real life, they usually ask me how I got it, and I say I have no idea - that while it can happen randomly to kids and teens, for adults it's often caused by stress and sometimes takes place about two to three months after a traumatic or substantial life event. I refused to believe that would happen, but I think she knew I had a long journey ahead of me. Krishnan warned me that I may lose my eyebrows and eyelashes too. (Hey, no more waxing!) During that first appointment, Dr. The rarest is universalis - the loss of everything, down to the stuff you get during puberty. Another, rarer form is totalis, which claims all the hair on your scalp. And for most, the hair loss is limited to small, round bald patches. Alopecia areata affects 6.6 million people in the U.S. Essentially, my body started treating the cells that make the pigment in my hair follicles as enemies and went into attack mode. She offered me a tissue box and explained in a delicate tone that it's an auto-immune disease that can be triggered by anything - stress, even a bad cold that "flipped a switch" in my immune system. Lavanya Krishnan, told me my hair was rapidly falling out because I had alopecia areata. And that's how I did it up until 16 months ago. "You know, once I do this, you're going to have to keep doing this forever." I nodded, do it, and she put her dollar-store razor to my skin, gently going from ankle to knee, knee to hip. At 8 years old, I stood in the bathtub wearing a bright green bathing suit with pink and white flowers as my mom gave me a final warning. ![]() One day in elementary school, some of the other third graders made fun of my hairy legs, so I came home and asked my mom to shave them. As soon as I was old enough to realize it, I spent an exorbitant amount of time trying to get rid of it. Me and my glorious head of hair a few hours after I was born. ![]()
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