Hair, Hair, It’s (Almost) Nowhere

“Mommy, why is that woman bald?” Reese asked while I was looking online at mastectomy tattoos shortly after my diagnosis. At this point, I expected to have surgery first and hopefully avoid chemotherapy altogether.  I explained to Reese that the woman, like mommy, had cancer, and she lost her hair because of some of the medicine the doctors gave her to fight the cancer germs. Regardless, I knew that I wanted to normalize the idea of a bald woman fighting cancer, and take the fear out of it for Reese, in case I did need chemotherapy.

Shortly after Christmas, I decided to get highlights in my hair for the first time in my adult life. They were super subtle and I spent more on them than I usually spend on my hair in a year. Following my cancer diagnosis, I decided to go more bold with the highlights (I was thinking I may avoid chemo at that point) and went back to the salon.  I loved the combination of highlights, some blonde, some more auburn, against my naturally very dark brown hair.  I spent more money on my hair in a few weeks than I had ever done before.  I justified it by telling myself I had cancer, and if I was going to lose my hair, at least I would love it for the short while I had it. It would give me something to look forward to when my hair grew back.

BB and I waiting for one my appointments.

Prior to starting chemo, my hair was pretty long.  After speaking with another cancer survivor, I decided to cut my hair short before starting chemo.  I did this to make the transition from long hair to no hair easier for both myself and my kids. So back to the salon I went, for the third time in less than a month. My stylist cut my hair into an edgy bob, that was frankly too cool for me, and that I couldn’t style as well as she had, and that’s what I walked into my first chemo session with on February 10th.

My oncologist had told me that hair loss would start shortly after my second chemo cycle. Right on schedule, within a few days of receiving my second dose of A-C chemotherapy on February 24th, my hair began to fall out.  (By the way, since we’re in for a penny, I’m going in for the full pound.  In full disclosure, what the doc did not tell me was that my pubes may be the first to go.  They were.  They were like the light from the lighthouse, warning that something big was coming. I’ve read that this isn’t uncommon.) My hair did not go in a few strands here and there.  It abandoned my head in large clumps, like groups of sailors jumping off a sinking ship.  It started in the shower.  As I ran my hand through my head after shampooing and conditioning, more and more (and more) hair kept coming off in my hands.  I ended up with a clump of hair the size of a large rodent on my shower shelf (no I was not going to let that hair go down the drain and clog it). This went on for a few more days. Similarly large clumps would come out in my brush.  I began to brush my hair more than ever just to see how much could keep coming out.  Frankly, I was shocked at how much hair I had to lose.  (If you’re easily grossed out by pictures of hair balls, look away now!)

Oddly satisfying, yet disturbing.

The hair clump that started the shedding process. 

Finally, I decided the time had come...time to shave my head.  At this point, my hair still looked okay, but I did not want to wait until I looked like one of the zombies from the Walking Dead to shave my head.  I also had started to dread showering because of how much hair came out in the shower, not to mention how much hair was coming off onto my clothes.  So on Saturday, February 29th, B shaved my head.  I decided to do it before the kids went to bed, so that it wasn’t a complete shock for them. The process went quickly.  Here was the finished product.  (That’s me giving a big f*ck you to cancer).

R came up and saw me before I went downstairs.  She was not fazed. She declared, “Mommy, you’re bald” and walked away.  I will chalk that up to showing her pictures of bald women and reading that children’s book about cancer.  I was more nervous about how my son, L, would react.  He had no warning that I was going to cut my hair off, and was entirely clueless about what was going on.  I walked downstairs to the family room.  He stood at the coffee table playing and turned to look at me.  I saw uncertainty flash in his eyes for a few seconds before I said, “Hi Bubba!!” The uncertainty passed, and he said “Mommy” with a big smile on his face and ran to me to be picked up.  I was relieved.  I had been worried that he would be afraid of me, but to him, I was still Mommy. 

As an aside, before I started chemo, I felt it was important to buy a wig (I actually ended up getting two, named Holly and Farrah), some baseball hats with partial wigs, and a bunch of beanies to wear around the house.  Before we went on lockdown, I wore my wigs out all of two times and I really disliked each time. I felt phony, as if I had something to hide. I didn’t expect to feel that way. I had thought they would help me feel normal, but they did the opposite. 

For chemo, I’ve decided to wear scarf head wraps.  By the way, I get now why they say to put hats on newborns.  A bald head really does feel chilled.  Come summer, depending on where we are with this pandemic, I don’t think I’m going to wear the wigs.  There is something really freeing and empowering about owning where I am in this.  Yes, I am bald, but now it reminds me that I’m a fighter, and I’m proud of that. 

I may feel differently when my hair starts to grow out and I have to go through some really awkward phases, but we’ll see. I am going to be kind to myself and do whatever feels comfortable for me at that time.

I also still have my eyebrows and most of my eyelashes.  They may still fall out later in my Taxol treatment, but we’ll see. Currently, I’m 50% done with Taxol and 75% done with chemo, so we’ll see whether they hang in there for my remaining two (2!!!!!!) chemo treatments.