The closest I can recall is when I had lice as a kid and had to get my hair whacked off. There was always a sense of disappointment, since I have a thing for long hair. I'd always refuse to let my hair be cut more then an inch when I was a child (and even now, come to think of it).
When it was cut, I'd feel kind of sad. Set back. Maybe robbed? but I don't know if that word is too harsh. And of course, there's always the mild sense of powerlessness since I was a kid having to do what Mom told me to. I imagine an adult would feel something related.
I drew comfort from Mom's insistence that it would grow back longer, and now that I know that strands die after a certain time anyway, I don't feel like it was such a permanent deal.
My $0.02
