Hair We Go Again, Bold and Bald

From what I've seen, cancer patients who are told that they might lose their hair during chemo usually don't. But my carboplatin-paclitaxel chemo combo includes a guarantee for total hair loss.

And as this is the second time I'm doing a round of chemo treatments, that means I'm totally bald again!

Losing your hair from chemo only takes a couple of weeks, if that. 
At first I noticed a few hairs in the sink. Then the next day or two had me doing a little more vacuuming and drain-clearing, and my hair lost its luster and bounce. And then IT happens. 
You wake up in the morning and you have hair on your head, but it feels like it's  
Someone Else's Hair.  Eeeew!  Night-Hair on Elm Street!

The first time I lost my hair, I prepared well. I bought my wig on my first day of chemo, and had caps ready, too.  I had my hairdresser's cell phone number at hand, and he kept his buzz-cutter ready for me.  
So when I woke up that dreadful morning knowing that if I even touched my head, half of my (long) hair would fall off onto the floor, I just called up my hairdresser, zipped on over to his shop before it opened, got a buzzcut, and put on the new Raquel Welch wig all before 9 am. Ta-Da!  Lovely!

The second time I lost my hair was a little different. Again, I woke up with creepy mass of nightmare fur on my head. I called my hairdresser, who said he couldn't squeeze me in until 2pm. "But I can't wait!  I need it off NOW!" I pleaded. No go. 
I do have a good hairdresser, he just didn't really "get it." Not everyone does.

So I went to my local town's Grooming Room (not to be confused with the town's Grooming Salon which caters to Jack Russell Terriers and such). I had never been there before (to the Grooming Room, that is, our Bichon visited the Salon once). 
At 8:45 a.m. I pushed open the door and breathlessly streamed out, "I-have-ovarian-cancer-and-only-2-years-to-live-and-I-need-my-hair-buzzed-off-RIGHT-NOW-can-you-do-it?"
And much to my surprise, Dwight (the hairdresser) acted like this happened to him every morning. He kindly invited me in.

Before I sat down (the shop was empty, so early), he offered me the option of a more secluded chair.  "No thanks, I like to see out the window."  The buzzing noise started. The hair fell in clumps to the floor, and I moaned softly "Oh this feels SO GOOD!" I felt so much cleaner without that creepy dead stuff clinging to my scalp.  Aaaah.

Dwight explained that he had done this before, but for some women it is a really saddening experience, and had offered the secluded chair in case I might have needed to cry. 
I felt pretty self-centered to not have realized this. I always had seen chemo-baldness as a possibly unflattering state, especially now that I'm over 50 and hair helps give femininity where my face has butched-up a little. But I never really internalized that women were crying about it. My heart goes out to them.

Did I bring my wig this time?  NO WAY!  

Last year I wore my wig and it looked great. But summer came, and it was hot and itchy. And yet my children insisted I wear it. So I couldn't go to the pool or anywhere with the kids for fear of serious heat-stress. I felt more and more like I was wearing the wig for anyone but me.  

When I attended a "Look Good, Feel Better" class (makeovers for women with cancer, fabulous class) there was one attendee who said that she was going to skip the wig, as it was only for 6 months and she wasn't interested in wearing one. I saw her point--she was just naturally glamorous with a bald head. The rest of the women attendees pushed her a little. "Try on THIS one. Or THIS one!"  
She couldn't get it through to them. She didn't WANT a wig.
A couple of months after my first chemo, I didn't want or need a wig either, it was everyone else who seemed to need me to wear it. But my selfish side took over (or maybe my shellfish side?) and I turned to wearing solely caps. (Which quickly became worn soul-y caps).


Pink caps are great. If you have a bald head and a pink cap in my area, every woman you pass makes encouraging remarks and offers smiles and hugs and prayers and help. It's the best feeling in the world. Instant support network even if you just swing by the post office. 

Coffee with a friend.

During this second string of chemo treatments I see things a little differently. I left my wig in the closet, and my kids have had to graduate to mom wearing caps. No fake hair, even if she attends a school event.   
"It's OK, Honey, I'll wear a pink cap and everyone will just assume I have breast cancer."

Without the kids, I don't bother with caps unless I'm cold. Fewer people respond to a bald head under a cap that is NOT pink. It is tempting to wear a pink cap to get lots of positive attention all day long, but I'm beginning to think that this would be a little dishonest.


Last week I had one of those beautiful unforgettable moments in life that take your breath away. I was driving home with the windows down when a bald eagle flew 15 ft from my passenger window, keeping perfect pace with the car for a half mile as we watched each other. 
Flying through life, bold and bald.


"Cover my defenseless head
With the shadow of Thy wing"
         --Charles Wesley, 1740  

Link to You Tube "Jesus Lover of My Soul" Moore by Four//Smallwood/Wesley/J.S. Bach
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SSWTxVXxzTU