Chemotherapy and Hair Loss

Okay. This is as fresh as it comes. I lost my hair less than two hours ago. This is how it went:
I reached to run my hands through my hair, which I had sensibly had cut quite short when I learned that I was going to need chemotherapy. One hair came away. Hmmm, I thought. A couple of hours later, I realized that my scalp was slightly sore. I reached up again. Three hairs came back on my fingers. I braced myself internally and swept my hand through my hair, fairly well prepared to see the half-dozen dark blond strands. I walked purposefully into the bathroom and bent over the sink. A moment later, twenty pieces of proof lay on the porcelain surface. I retrieved my husband’s hair trimmer from the cupboard and went down to his home office. I held up the razor and tried to get the words out to explain what was happening. He was puzzled at first, but then realized what I was attempting to tell him. We shared a hug and a few tears. Then I calmly backed out of the room, went back to the bathroom, and adjusted the trimmer to one millimeter. I took a moment to look at myself in the mirror, winked at my reflection, and turned back to the sink. The operation took a few minutes, because my hair was fine, but soon I raised my head and took a quick peek. Sinead O’Connor, I thought. Not too bad. Of course, by tomorrow, I won’t even have the stubble. I’m trying to brace myself for that. I put on a bit of lipstick, decided against my current eye makeup because it is not hypo-allergenic, and resolved to hit the beauty counter soon.

So, I was grateful for a couple of things I had already taken care of:

1. Earlier, as I mentioned, I had had my hair cut in a very short style, partially exposing the forehead I had hidden for the past 27 years.
2. I had bought two cute hats and a headscarf, had borrowed one cotton turban from the local hospital, and purchased a terry turban from the wig shop, along with a synthetic wig.
3. My husband, also upon learning that I was going to have aggressive chemo, had shaved his head in empathy, and I knew that he would grow his hair again only once mine was coming in too.

Having done those things made this afternoon a fair bit easier to bear. My sense of humor is intact. In fact, I just thought of something, Next autumn, I shall buy a glorious, long, cheap Halloween wig, and scare people by yanking it off!

Small Stuff You Need To Know

1. Your hair doesn’t fall out all at once.
Mine took about two weeks to disappear altogether. I felt shy in front of my husband if he happened to walk into the bathroom when I had no turban or bandana on. Heck, I was shy in front of myself, time after time. Somehow the cancer seemed deniable a lot of the time, but not when I was looking at my patchy, balding head. The realization grew that within me that I was not my hair. I was not my drastically changed breast. I was me, perhaps more truly me than I had ever been in my life. Cancer was changing me on a deeper level than the physical. I was growing up.

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 Resources

I have been so grateful to have had access to web-based support groups and to breast cancer information. Here's a list of Web Resources that helped me. If you know of other good ones, please e-mail me and I will add them to the list.

Wonderful Books

Walk-a-thon 2007