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10/23/2009 3:33 AM

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They say that blondes have more fun, but what about girls with blonde man cuts? Come next week that will be me: a girl with a blonde man cut.

After having spent the better part of the spring and all of the summer bald from chemotherapy, I finally have enough up there to talk about. The good news is that the hair really does come back.

But something about my ordeal - the chemicals or the stress or something - has left me with more gray than I had before. Before all this I had few enough grays that there were days I considered pulling them all out. If I were to do that now, I would be at it all day, and also bald again. Rubbing my head, my kids tell me it feels like a teddy bear. That's OK; they could have said Brillo pad.

The nurses told me that when my hair grew back, it would likely be the opposite of what I had before. So what's the opposite of long, slightly wavy, reddish-brown hair with side-swept bangs?

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Scrubby gray that sticks straight up out of the head, apparently. Getting to this point, where I can actually call it a hairdo and have it professionally colored, has required me to endure some pretty ghastly stages. First came the stubble stage, wherein my noggin felt like my late grandfather's chin when he didn't shave. Next came the Chia Pet. I apparently passed through a cute stage a couple of weeks ago, when people pointed out a swirly cowlick at my crown. That's grown out, and now people tell me they never noticed my big, green eyes before.

That's probably because I always wore heavy bangs to cover my big, white forehead. Now there's nothing to comb down.

In a whole lifetime of haircuts, I've never been close to this short. It's liberating. Without any hair to fuss over, I'm out of the shower and out the door in less than half the time it used to take. Last week, while showering, I decided it was time to actually use some shampoo. We had none. My kids pointed out that the whole family had been using "dregs of bottles" and plain, old soap "ever since you went bald." Shampoo just wasn't on my radar screen.

Maybe not, but head covers were. Early in my treatment I stocked up on silk scarves I would tie into pretty bows at the nape. After a while I decided that made me look like a cancer patient, and I switched to hats and caps. All summer I wore the same straw hat with a leather band. I was wearing the hat when I went for my first day of radiation and the nurses took my photo. Every day, as I lay on the table, the radiation therapists would point to a computer screen and say, "Is that you?" and there I was in that stupid straw hat.

I plan to never wear a hat again. I will soon be blonde. Think Annie Lennox. Eventually, Ellen DeGeneres. I've ditched the stretchy bandanas and pulled out the earrings. My friends say I'll look "edgy" with a spiky do.

Right. Edgy, or possibly matronly. Or worse, manly. Whatever, now when I scratch my head as I'm trying to construct a good sentence, I feel hair. It's been a long time. It feels really good - hopeful, even.

Beth Dolinar can be reached at cootiej@aol.com.

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