Because I started out blogging about my breast cancer experience on a site called Caringbridge, I never really shared what I went through with my chemotherapy treatments on this blog. My Left Breast starts at my mastectomy and reconstruction, after I’d finished all my chemotherapy.
Today I’m uploading a caringbridge post from April 28, 2010 which I wrote after my 2nd chemo treatment when I first started to lose my hair. Most women (myself included) have a terribly hard time dealing with the loss of their hair.
Our hair is wrapped up so closely with our femininity and our appearance that it’s really not surprising that for so many of us, losing our hair during chemotherapy is one of the things that we dread the most.
The other thing that most people don’t realize is that once you do lose your hair, it becomes the physical manifestation of just how sick you really are. A woman without hair, eyebrows and eyelashes looks sick. She looks weak and fragile. This was one of the hardest things for me to deal with, looking and feeling sick once my hair was all gone. This post is about the day I decided to go ahead and shave my hair off.
The post below was first published in Caringbridge on April 28, 2010:
Well, I guess this post just has to be all about the hair, or lack thereof, eh? As of 2:00 pm yesterday afternoon, I am officially Cue-Ball-Head lady.
I love it.
It’s much, much better to have a teeny, tiny bit of hair on my head, than the normal amount of hair that I had, which was falling out anywhere and everywhere, all the time. It’s a little shocking, or disconcerting, to wake up in the morning and see this in the mirror, but I’ll try to articulate all the feelings associated with this experience, because hopefully, it will never happen to you and hopefully it will never happen to me again.
So, let me try and explain all the thoughts it brings to my mind. My BFF’s brother-in-law shaved my head for me. He’s the nicest guy, so gentle, so calm, so non-judgemental. He took a lot of time and really wanted to do a good job, when in my mind, it was just all about let’s get this stuff off my head right NOW. My BFF and her sister were both there and because of how long I’ve known them, and how much I’ve gone through with them in our pasts, it was very easy to just sit and let the hair fall away without any worries.
When it was done, I felt like a new person, kind of like a warrior woman.
I look very startling. There’s still some hair left (about 1/8 inch) and it’s mostly silver on the sides with some grey on the top, so it’s kind of silvery, shiny and the best way I can describe it is that it’s very “in your face.”
There’s no hiding about what I’m going through, now. Which is fine with me. I felt immediately better about myself. Nothing to hide now, no more worrying about hair falling out all over the place at inopportune times which was what had been happening. And, in fact, I’m way out there, I guess. Cancer is here, but I’m facing it dead on.
Once I decided to proactively shave all the hair left off, it wasn’t sad, it wasn’t scary, it was funny and very empowering. My BFF of course kept saying, “Oh I wish I had silver hair like yours,” and, “Oh, your head is shaped so nicely!” We all laughed and agreed that she was the only person you could imagine who could be jealous of someone who has to shave their hair off because of chemotherapy.
Which is exactly what I love about her: the fact that she makes me laugh so hard at life and my circumstances in the middle of this lunacy. I had already bought a wig about 2 weeks ago (Raquel Welch has a line of affordable and very cute wigs that many cancer patients use during chemotherapy), so after the shearing, I tried it on and we all decided it wasn’t so bad and that I could “pass” when I had to go to client meetings when I didn’t feel like I wanted to share any of the details about my breast cancer treatments.
It was all very comical and silly and ridiculous, just what I needed on such a momentous day. I’ll be forever in their debt for this one, what a relief. Then I drove home with my Raquel Welch wig on, lookin’ pretty stylin’.
When I got home, I took it off and showed the kids. Their eyes got really big and they both said that it was kind of scary to see my bald head.
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Understatement of the year, I’d say.
So, I put the wig back on and said, “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it, and if you want, most of the time I’ll wear the wig or hats.” My daughter rubbed her hand on my head and said, “Oooooh, it feels stubbly,” which of course, it does. My son declined any head rubbing. Such a boy. And that was that, with the kids.
Later, when my husband got home, I was a bit worried. He is my husband, after all and I still want him to find me attractive, and I would expect that it would be a bit disconcerting to think of being married to a bald-headed woman, but he was perfect. Said the wig looked nice on me.
Then when it was time to go to bed, I took a deep breath, said, “OK, you’d better be prepared,” and pulled it off. He just looked at my bald head, smiled and said, “It looks kind of cool,” or something along those lines.
And then he told me all about the latest Little League baseball team gossip/drama for the next half hour. Phew.
Last night I slept like a baby. Got up in the morning and was a bit surprised by the head staring at me in the mirror this morning. I decided I remind myself of Bruce Willis which wasn’t quite the look I was going for but at least it made me laugh first thing in the morning.
If I didn’t have a sense of humor, I wouldn’t be able to make it through this experience.
It is so wonderful that you can share your experience with others, including the photo (which I think you looked awesome, anyway!), and what fantastic friends and family you have! Thank you so much for sharing!
Thanks, Cher-Ann! I DO have such great friends and family, you’re right. They were so great during the whole bc process. Thanks for reading and commenting!
WOW, so brave! I’m so glad you have come out stronger and with a great support team and love your humor! #SITS
Thanks, Christie!
You are still so beautiful with the bald head! I would like to keep up with all your posts. This was very inspiring and, yes, funny.
Thanks, Corrie! I was so surprised at how smooth and round my head was, I had expected it to be weirdly shaped 🙂 Funny, never even thought about it until I had to lose all my hair. Thanks for your generous comments!
Oh wow. A sense of humor is important for sure. Thank you for sharing this! I used to have a shaved head by choice- I can’t begin to imagine what it would be like to have it fall out.
But yes- hair symbolizes so many things! I was treated differently when I had hair. People said I intimidated them, which is absurd!
So glad SITS has brought us together 🙂
You had a shaved head by choice!? Wow, brave!! I could see why it would be intimidating if it were by choice – might look kind of in your face…..but very cool! I’m so glad mine is back and don’t know if I’d ever cut it really super short again, just because of what happened during chemo. Thanks for reading and hope you come back for more!
A sense of humor is totally needed to make it through tough situations. I love your shaved head but I’m kinda biased because I helped 2 of my sisters shave off their hair. I find the look very empowering. I’m stopping over from #SITSBlogging and I really enjoyed browsing your site.
Reading this reminded me of my Mother-in-Law. She was diagnosed November 2012. She too decided to shave it off rather then wait for it to fall out. I remember the first time my son saw her after that. He asked “Where did your hair go? It come back later?” She said “Yes it will.” and that was the end of it.
I think I am going to go ahead and tell her to pay your site a visit. 🙂
Stopping by from #SITSblogging.
What a great story. My mother said losing her hair was harder on her vanity than losing a breast. I think there’s a lot of baggage around it. For one thing, it’s a public sign that you’re ill, which I think, might make it all scarier. So bravo for you, Claudia. You are a warrior.
I think it’s hard for most women, for exactly the reason you mention – it’s such a physical manifestation of the fact that you’re sick. Thanks, Kathleen!