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Along with so many other things that come with aging, I was surprised to find that my hair was thinning. Since I am not a man (and am only in my early fifties) this was discouraging, to say the least. No, let me be totally honest-it was horrifying. One day during a routine office visit, the nurse took one look at me, and immediately asked if my hair had always been that thin. (She had just confirmed what I had been trying to talk myself out of for two years.) I was losing my hair! Having always had beautiful, long auburn hair, my hair was part of my identity. But in the crown area and the bangs, things were looking so sparse that I often would go to work in tears, because I could no longer make it look right. And this was particularly sad, because I was a singer, and worked under bright spotlights!

Immediately the doctor sent me to a dermatologist for a diagnosis. This won't be too bad, I thought. It's probably some kind of skin problem, and a little cream will clear it right up. So that very day, I found myself in the dermatologist's office, thumbing through magazines. Before long my name was called. Feeling a little embarrassed, I told the nurse the reason why I was there. Humiliated, I imagined she might be laughing at me when she closed the door. Then the doctor came in and took one look, under a bright light, and suggested that I have a scalp biopsy. Huh? This was a far cry from a little cream, wasn't it? So obedient patient that I am, I braved a shot of anesthetic into my scalp, followed by a punch type biopsy. (Think of a hole punch.) Yikes! Then I was given a gauze pad to hold against my head for awhile, as both the nurse and the doctor exited the room. Within 3 minutes, blood was streaming down my head, and there was nothing for me to do. I looked like a wounded soldier. Eventually they did both return, and apologize for my predicament. I was then instructed to return in a month, and they would have the results. A month? Wondering why they couldn't just give me some kind of lotion now, I shook off my jitters by going shopping (with a huge bandaid in my hair.)

One month later, I returned to the dermatologist. The doctor strode into the room looking devoid of emotion, but then decided to put his arm around my chair. In a monotone voice he told me that my diagnosis was...male pattern baldness. What? (Are you kidding me, I thought.) But outwardly, I just smiled and try to act like a big girl. I got the feeling that he thought I might burst into tears, and

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