So why is hair so important? This may seem like an odd question to ask. As you will see, it is an especially unusual question for me to ask.

My hair has always been a very important part of my life.

As a child, when the relatives would gather and the family photos would come out, my mom would  always pass around one of me as a three-year-old standing on the beach with a full head of dark curly hair. “Oohs and ahs” were sure to follow.

As a teenager, once I escaped the hell of the parentally-imposed crew cut, I was careful to appear in public only if my hair was meticulously groomed. I was short and a bit pudgy, not very athletic. My hair was clearly my best feature.

When I left for college, I expressed my independence by not cutting my hair for the full four years I was away at school.  It eventually reached the middle of my back. It was beautiful hair, and all the girls were envious. Not so much my family. My grandfather even offered me $1,000 if I cut it and kept it short. Being a man of principle, I refused.

Fast forward to me in my 60’s, and I still had a full head of dark hair with barely a speck or two of grey.

So, when my myeloma doctor made it very clear during our first visit after my diagnosis that the treatment path I would need to follow would include a stem cell transplant and certain hair loss, I was a bit taken aback, but not overly concerned. This was something to be dealt with down the road, assuming that I decided to follow his advice.

Eventually, I opted to proceed with the transplant. As the day approached, thoughts of losing my hair and mustache (which most people I know had never seen me without) came to the forefront.

I recall reading an article in which two leading myeloma experts debated the pros and cons of early stem cell transplantation. One of the points made by the doctor arguing against early transplantation was that those who lose their hair as a result of the transplant process appear to themselves to be “sick.” Because they are also perceived that way by others, they feel sicker than they otherwise would.

This notion was reinforced for me when I returned to work after my transplant. A co-worker who lost her hair due to chemo treatment asked me if I also lost my eyebrows and eyelashes (I did not, but she had). She related that she just looked so sick to herself when she looked in the mirror.

I realize that this might be more of an issue for women than it is for men. For example, broadcaster Joan Lunden said in a recent interview about her battle with cancer that she viewed herself as not pretty and less feminine after she lost her hair.

So it turns out that hair, which is largely non-functional (except when it is really cold out like it was last winter when I lost mine), can be very important. It affects our self-image and reminds us in a very visual way that we have a disease and that it is serious. I imagine that cancer patients and their loved ones are very aware of that.

However, when I lost my hair, I learned a valuable and surprising lesson: the loss of hair can also have a positive effect.

Here is how I learned that lesson.

When I was permitted to again go out in the world and mingle with the masses following my transplant, I saw many people I have seen for years, but who were at best “nodding acquaintances.” These are the people who you see at work, at the gym, around the neighborhood, or at the grocery store, but with whom the sum of your interaction is a smile and a “Hi.”

When these folks saw me in my bald state, it was obvious to them – as it was to everybody else – that I had been through chemo. I was prepared for some reactions, but I was surprised and deeply touched by what happened.

Many asked me, in our first “real” conversation, how I felt. And they asked this with genuine concern in their voices. Some were a bit more forward and probed for details.

I found myself not the least bit reluctant to describe what I was facing and what I had been through. In many instances, this led to a discussion of similar challenges they or their loved ones were facing. It became clear to me very quickly that we were inspiring each other.

They were moved by the way I was approaching my battle. And I was similarly energized by hearing stories of how they, or people they knew, had fought and won against daunting odds.

These are conversations that never would have taken place if I hadn’t lost my hair. My baldness was the perfect conversation starter.

I am not very philosophical in nature — I tend be more of the analytical sort. However, dealing with the many ups and downs since my diagnosis has taught me that the most difficult challenges life throws at us can also present us with opportunities.

We learn about ourselves and others. We have opportunities to help and give back. We come to savor and appreciate life more than we ever have before.

Given my fondness for my hair, which now thankfully is back, I never imagined that losing it could be positive in any way.

Yet my experience shows that even losing a prized part of myself can be a good thing.