We'll be okay.

I didn't pray for a girl or a boy, but I did dare to hope the baby would be a redhead. When Grace sprung outside my womb three and a half years ago, the first words I remember hearing were from my mom, joyfully announcing, "It's a girl!" It looked like a little bit of strawberry blond fuzz was growing on her head, and I was ecstatic.

“Google this disease: Alopecia areata.”

“Isn’t that something about the immune system?”

That fuzz eventually grew into red curls at the nape of her neck, and then into the wavy bob she sports today. For all my talk about girls being defined by more than their physical beauty, I love Grace’s unique red hair that flounces around her head, unkempt, as she runs in the courtyard outside of her preschool classroom.

Won’t ever make her sick…not contagious…

While pregnant with Natalie, I dreamed one night of two little girls, one slightly taller than the other, one with slightly redder hair and one with slightly blonder hair, running in front of me down a busy sidewalk. They were laughing and holding hands. While tense about the cars whizzing past, I also felt such joy that the siblings would run off happily like that. I correctly interpreted the dream to mean that with two little ones, life would be amazing and happy, but it would always feel a little out of control, just slightly beyond my reach.

You can use hats or bandanas when it gets bad….it probably will grow back next year…

Natalie’s blonde bob was so fly-away her first year that we threw her a crazy hair-themed first birthday party and asked guests to come with crazy hair. Sometimes the girls get a treat and I spring for the cool kids’ hair salon, complete with airplane seats and Dora the Explorer on the TV. Usually, their hair is cut by Mommy, while sitting on the kitchen counter.

…see an Eastern doctor…her trigger could be dietary or stress-related…here’s the name of my homeopath…

The first nickel-sized bald spot didn’t phase me. The second, quarter-sized spot prompted a visit to the doctor. It took a pediatrician, a family med doctor, and a skin disease reference book for them to come up with the diagnosis: Alopecia, an autoimmune disorder in which her immune system attacks her hair follicles.

Half of those diagnosed re-grow their hair in a year, no problem. Then there’s 45% that lose more and struggle with patchy baldness, sometimes affecting up to half of their hair, for years and years. That leaves 5% who lose all of their hair on their head or all of their hair on their entire body. Kids have a higher re-growth rate (yay!), but they also are more likely to have recurring hair loss later if they develop Alopecia before puberty (argh).

How do you react when your child is diagnosed with an incurable disease that doesn’t make her sick but might cause her to lose lots of that gorgeous crown of strawberry blonde waves? We began by being thankful she isn’t sick. That is isn’t contagious. That if she does lose her hair, it will be a million times better than a kid who is bald due to leukemia or chemo. That she is being raised in a family that consciously tries not to attach too much importance to physical beauty. As Shawna eloquently said, children with problems and diseases are going to be born. Scott and I were given one. We were entrusted with a child who might lose her hair. Aren’t I glad this child is being raised by me, and not by some parent who has over-glorified physical beauty to the extreme?

Then after about a week we got angry. Angry that the doctor told us to Google the disease instead of answering my questions face to face. Angry that she wouldn’t give us a dermatology referral. We will get a second opinion from a different doctor and will also see a respected Eastern medical doctor after reading information online about non-traditional approaches. A friend with Alopecia suggested that a homeopath help us determine what Grace’s triggers are. We feel good about our approach. We're doing everything right, as my friend Michelle reassured me.

I decided to go two directions simultaneously, which puts me in a slightly hypocritical position, as Michelle also pointed out. One, we are going to continue making a home that doesn’t glorify physical beauty. I have decided to not blow dry and style my hair in front of Grace. We point out strong, kind, and successful people we know who are balding or lack typical physical beauty. Grace knows her hair might grow back but she might lose more. She isn’t too concerned yet; after all, she’s only three.

The second direction is to pursue all options available to try to nip this hair loss in the bud. This would indicate that hair and physical beauty are, indeed, important to us. And they are. I will have to get used to these inconsistencies if I want to simultaneously protect her psyche and her strawberry blonde crown. While we can’t forget which of those is more important, it is fair to say that we care about them both. I won’t pretend that no one cares about hair or hair loss, but I refuse to be horrified by the thought of Grace with an early Ani ‘do. I will not stand over her head while she sits doing a puzzle, fretting over every new strand that falls out. I will not comb her hair every morning for 15 minutes, exasperatedly trying to hide the bald patches.

Maybe she will want hair extensions to hide the bald spots. Maybe we will find the environmental or dietary trigger and she’ll never lose hair again. And maybe a proud balding Grace will redefine what beauty means to those who grow up with her.

“Dr. Roby!” I cried, in mock distress, “You are such a good vet! You fixed my parrot’s beak, helped heal my kitten’s broken tail, and solved my dog’s stomach ache! Can you help with my horse?”

“Sure! What’s the problem?” Grace asked, holding her stethoscope up to the truck I was pretending was a horse. God, what else is usually wrong with animals? I couldn’t think of anything.

“She is losing her hair.” The words sprang from my mouth before I had the chance to sensor them. I stopped and looked at her. With a furrowed brow, she examined the truck carefully. I could have kicked myself. We had set the game up so that Dr. Roby fixed whatever problem I brought her. I feared she would think there was only one solution here.

“Can she still jump and run?” She asked. I nodded.

“Stronger and higher than ever.” Grace hung the stethoscope around her neck.

“Then she’s fine.” Grace shrugged nonchalantly. I let out the breath I’d been holding.

“Thanks, Doctor! What a relief that she’ll be okay.”