Hair Bleaching Catastrophe

I wrote this for craigslist.org ... I'm posting it here too The hair Bleaching Catastrophe Anyone who colors their hair DIY, or who is considering it, should read my tale of woe. I started coloring my own hair in high school. I think that's when most people start experimenting. I followed the directions. I did what I was supposed to do and the worst thing that ever happened was my color turning out ugly. So naturally, when I wanted to bleach my hair, the first place I went was to a local beauty supply store/salon and asked a professional. They helped me choose the products I would use and told me how to apply them. It was pretty "cut and dry" (pun intended). At some point in 2002-03 we had a friend from LA staying with us. He was a drummer and was playing in my husbands band. I asked him and also the guitar player for their opinions because they always had some crazy color job going on and I figured they did their own hair frequently enough to know what they were doing. *Big Piece Of Advice*: NEVER listen to what your punk-ass friends tell you about coloring hair unless they have graduated from Cosmetology school. The ladies in the salon told me to avoid getting bleach directly on my scalp, since it would burn me. My friends told me to rub that shit in good or else my roots would be left exposed. Of course I said fuck the beauty store lady! I do shit the hectic way. The way my rocker friends do their shit. Sure the process was uncomfortable, my scalp was tingling and it felt like a zillion bitting ants were swarming my head. Sure I got a few burns around my hair line, but my hair came out a dazzling bright white and I was super stoked. Fast forward a couple years. I'm an old pro now. I know what the hell I'm doing. On the chilly winter evening that the Catastrophe transpired, my friend and I were busily styling. I think I was going for the straight up bleach job and my friend was going to do some black on white number. I had finished setting my hair. My scalp was already starting to tingle, especially since it was winter time and I had a bit of dry scalp going on. We had run out of bleach and my friend needed more to finish her hair. My head was starting to itch like crazy, and I gave it a nice good scratch. A deep, hard, thorough scratch. It felt better for a few minutes. Since my friend had her hair only half done when we ran out of supplies, I was designated the one to go fetch some more. I had my head wrapped in cellophane and a knitted beanie over that. I had the bleach in for about 15-20 minutes already and the hairline on my neck was starting to kind of bother me, but I'm tough, man. I have a pretty high pain threshold, I think, so I chose to ignore it. Yes, I ignored that and the burning that was happening on the top of my head where I had scratched so well. I jumped in the car and drove a 1/4 mile to Longs. I think I was approaching the hair care section when the pain really started to hit me. I was somehow able to find what I needed and made it to the counter. But at the counter I was barely holding it together. I knew I was in trouble. I think my face must have been red by then... It sure felt red. My scalp felt horrible... kind of like electric hands were slithering all over my head, under the skin. Every nerve was on high alert. Code fucking red. The counter girl probably thought I was crazy, I'm sure. All they saw was a wide-eyed, red faced, beanie clad, mad lady trying to buy some shit with ammonium chloride in it (the same ingredient can also be used to make nerve gas). I staggered back to my car and tried driving home. I made it, but it wasn't pleasant. It took every ounce of will power I had to keep my car under control. (I know that statement will probably piss a lot of you road Nazi's off... but hey, if you're afraid to drive with people who suck at driving, maybe you should figure out some super cool method of public transportation and quit driving, I mean God, how hard can THAT be? Let the rest of us kill each other then you won't have to worry about the surplus population either). Aaahh, but I digress. I was whimpering in the car. Whimpering. I don't know how else to describe it. I didn't mean to get myself into this mess, but I did and all I wanted to do was get myself back out of it. My scalp hurt so bad. I arrived "safely" at home and even remembered to bring my friends stuff in with me. She looked at me and didn't know what to say. I think she asked if I was ok. I just drug myself to the bathroom and started to disrobe. The world was reeling around me. I turned on the shower and gingerly started undressing my head. The beanie was no big whoop but the cellophane was HOT. It could have easily been 80+ degrees. Maybe even in the 90's... is that hot?  I don't know... but it was hot.  Some of my hair peeled off with the cellophane and anytime anything (from my hand to a strand of hair) touched the area on the top of my head where I had scratched earlier, it sent a stabbing, red hot, fire knife right through the top of my skull. I took a cold shower. I started rinsing my hair. It was a million icy needles driving into skin that had just been burned off with acidic chemicals. My hair was pulling apart like warm sandwich bag plastic. Like the plastic streamers that hang on bicycle handles. So much of my hair came out while I was trying to rinse. My hand skidded over the area where I had scratched, and it was gooey. The hair was gone, and I had some serious 3rd degree burns going on. I dressed and walked (again, staggered is a better word) a half a block to a medical clinic. At the desk I pulled out the first insurance card I found and shoved it toward the lady. I was in tears. I head a head ache, a scalp ache, a brain ache... my hair still felt like it was sizzling. I could barely talk coherently. The receptionist told me my insurance had expired and I had to go to the emergency room several miles away. There was no fucking way I could drive and I knew it, my friend didn't have a license and my husband was a work. My head was fucked, the receptionist told me to go somewhere else and I basically freaked out. I collapsed in a chair and called my mom who came right down and demanded that I be seen. Good ol' mom. She wrote a check, bitched out the receptionist and also chewed out the doctor. (I should have mentioned before that my mom is a nurse and had known the doctor for years, so she was extra pissed that he didn't see me.. he told her that he didn't realize I was her daughter. Like that should make a difference in a medical emergency... my scalp was melting off, and the clinic was not busy.) Anyway... it turned out that I had given the receptionist an expired CARD, but my insurance was fine. I just couldn't think to find the correct card. I was finally seen, treated and given some serious pain killers (woo hoo!!). For weeks after that, a large area on the top of my head was a swamp of festering puss, it was like a bad abrasion only worse. It was a 3rd degree burn. I kept picking off these boogers that would cling to the strands of hair surrounding my wound. One night I had insomnia and I sat up watching John Carpenter's Vampires. While watching, my hand kept traveling to the area of the burn and pick, pick, picking at what was up there. A good scab had finally formed, and I was picking around the edges of it... loosening it up. It would have freed itself within another 4-5 days probably, but I wasn't willing to wait that long. I kept picking at the scab while I watched big titty vampire bitches get stabbed through the heart. Finally the scab came loose, but it had formed around clumps of hair, which were keeping it in place. *Big Piece Of Advice*: DON'T PICK IT OR IT WILL NEVER HEAL!! I was determined to get that scab off and I finally did. It was somewhat of a battle of will... I was pulling skin off that wasn't ready to come, and also pulling my hair out from under a few layers of skin. It hurt in more than just a superficial way, but stupid me, I did what compulsion drove me to do. It was a pretty big scab. I tried ripping it in half and was unsuccessful. That scab had previously been a good chunk of my fucking scalp. Now, I have a quarter sized bald spot on my head. The incident happened 3 or 4 years ago now... and I still have a nice, smooth area up there. It is always peeking out. I couldn't decide whether to get a hair transplant or what. I finally took care of it. Thanks for reading, guys. This was a long one. If you ever see me in Santa Cruz, say Hi and tell me you read this, and how what an idiot I was changed your life or saved your friend or something. I'd like to think something valuable came from my experience. ~Many Thanks to Bret Scheinfeld for the picture and the unconditional friendship. I love you. ♥~