Where Oh Where Is My Hair?

I went to get a haircut today. This is something that I have found that I cannot plan to do anymore, but rather just need to fly by the seat of my pants and go. I gave up having my own hairdresser years ago because I couldn't stand the guilt/anxiety/embarrassment of not keeping a regular schedule for cuts. This is a new aspect of life that cancer has given me.

I used to have great hair. I mean really great hair. "You're hair is so pretty" is a compliment that I enjoyed hearing on a regular basis. Soft, curly locks when I was a young child, hair that was great for any popular hairstyle (Farrah Fawcett Wings, Pat Benatar Short) when I was a teen, and hair that easily could have stood 6 inches off of my forehead with the aid of aerosol glue (i.e. hairspray) in the 80's. Finally, just a long, thick, wavy mane that could be worn many ways in my 20's.

I often complained to myself about my hair (don't we all?), but deep down always knew that it was one of my best features - right up there with another part of my body that I no longer have due to cancer, but I will share/complain about that later.

I have been completely bald twice and have had my hair become really thin a third time. I don't know which one was the hardest to endure. When I began my first rounds of chemo, my docs told me that I, under no uncertainty, would lose my hair and probably within 2 weeks of beginning treatment. So I did what any Type A personality would do: I planned. I researched everything, called the American Cancer Society to have brochures forwarded, rehearsed the conversation I would have with my 3 year old daughter about why Mommy would soon look like a marble, and called my hairdresser, Jimmy (at that time I did see a hairdresser every 4.2 weeks like a good West Hartford girl should do). Jimmy was so great. He closed his shop and off he and my husband Ken and I went to look for a wig to purchase. We found a cute, sassy thing about the same color as my hair and I bought it. We then went back to the salon and he cut my long hair to look like the wig to help ease my transition. Sounds like a cake walk, right?

I think it was exactly the 14th day when I was in the shower when the inevitable began. Looking back, I remember that the night before I was very uncomfortable because my head really itched - an omen, I guess. As I lathered and then rinsed, I opened my eyes and to my horror the entire shower was COVERED with my hair. How could there be a strand left on my head when I couldn't even see the shower tiles? I tried to pull myself together and gently patted dry. My bangs were in my face so I brushed them away. They fell off in my hand. I sobbed to my husband and he called 911 - not really, just Jimmy the hairdresser, who was my 911 that day. Jimmy graciously closed the shop again and proceeded to shave my head. I wanted to take control of the uncontrollable. I just wanted it over with - next adventure, please. I couldn't imagine walking around for the next several days leaving a trail of my hair - yuk. I kid you not, it took less than 3 minutes to remove all of my hair. I couldn't look at myself in the mirror. More importantly, I couldn't look at Ken. I thought that if I didn't make eye contact with him, he couldn't see me - and I couldn't see his expression, whatever it may be. To his credit, Ken immediately told me that I was always beautiful to him, bald or not. I quickly and quietly put on my wig and headed home.

I now had to share my new, altered appearance with my three year old daughter Tessa. Did I mention that she had locks of gold that would have made Rapunzel envious? And that one of our favorite parts of the morning was doing our hair together in my bathroom? I sat down on the sofa with Tessa and slowly removed my wig while again explaining that my hair would be away for awhile. She looked at me hard and long, and then very seriously said "Mommy, you look just like Torrie" (my beautiful bald, round headed 6 week old son - I was diagnosed while 7 mos. pregnant - that's another story). And that was that. Can we play now? I love kids.

I wore my wig every day. I hated that stupid wig. That's exactly what it looked like - a stupid wig. Half of the time it was lopsided because one of my babies pulled on it. It itched like crazy and it was hot as hell. Once I almost caught the thing on fire when I opened the oven door to remove dinner - the bangs got really burnt so I had to do my own cut/style job on the dumb thing. I regret now that I was not brave enough or self assured enough to wear my baldness like a medal for the battle I was fighting. I see women now and I am so proud of their courage and confidence.

Once my chemo was over, I thought that my hair would grow back immediately. No, it took it's own sweet time. Patience is not one of my strongest attributes, but cancer has made me work on it. Once the fuzzies came in I switched to a ball cap that I had made that read 'Hair by Chemo' - I thought it was very clever and I am sure it answered a lot of unasked questions. When my hair finally grew in to the cool punk rock looking stage - I donated my wig to the American Cancer Society. No big fanfare, just a heave ho. You've served me well, dear wig, but now I need you no more - I'll never be bald again....

The second time I found out that I was going to be bald, an acquaintance named Depression came for a visit. She stayed for a long time. Things were so much different now; my kids were older, in elementary school. Other kids might not be so nice. Would they be embarrassed, or worse, ashamed of me? God has blessed me with the two sweetest, kindest, smartest, wise beyond their years, children (o.k. I'm biased). The stresses that they have endured having a mother with cancer their ENTIRE young lives are incalculable. I was afraid. To get my pal Depression to leave, I brought in all of my really good friends to show her the door. We had a party. A Head Shaving Party! This is no exaggeration - 73 women came over, partied and held my hand while my hair was once again shaved off. My heart almost exploded with gratitude. This time, I walked around with nothing on my head, then later, a Red Sox cap (Go Sox). After all, everyone I knew had just seen me get my hair cut off, what was there to hide now? My kids were exceptional, they have never said anything short of "you're beautiful to me, Mommy".

It does get old being bald though. Sometimes you just want to look in the mirror and see/feel/be normal. I can understand if a person chooses to be bald - it's when the choice is taken away from you that it becomes tough to deal with.

That brings me to today. After determining that my hair resembled a brown football helmet today - I jumped into the car and went to one of those no appointment needed places. I told the stylist that I wanted something short, cute and sassy - like the gals you see in the magazines. My "style" looked like...a chemo patient - way too short. Just for a few days though, until I figure out how to use all the gels, cremes and sprays they suckered me into to look like all of those cute , sassy gals in the magazines!

I am not nearly as vain of a person as I used to be, and that's a good thing. So much time and energy wasted - now if someone doesn't like to see me at the grocery with that beautiful 'just outta bed look', they can look at someone else!

Many great things are happening with breast cancer drugs now. Most of the new targeted therapies that are working so well to fight cancer don't cause hair loss. Let's all pray for that. After all, a woman loses so much of herself physically and emotionally while fighting breast cancer, shouldn't she at least have REALLY GREAT hair?!

KG