One of the biggest surprises to me, when I was going through cancer, was my reaction to losing my hair. Chemotherapy hair loss was by far one of the most traumatic parts of the journey.
My walk through cancer treatment was at the start of the pandemic. I began chemotherapy treatments the week before the world shut down for Covid. It was a scary time if you were the picture of health, yet terrifying when you knew that you had to destroy your immune system to stay alive.
If you didn’t know me prior, let me tell you about my hair: I had the thickest, most luxurious head of hair that you have ever seen. Take the photo in your head and now imagine it 20% thicker. I could wear it straight, with my natural curls, or in a beautiful silk press. I had to plan my day around washing my hair because it took so long to dry – no matter if it was drying naturally or with a blow dryer. It took hours.
I complained a lot about it. And, absolutely hated my hair growing up. (That’s another post for another day.)
My doctor advised that with the type of chemo that I was taking, I could expect my hair to begin thinning and falling out around Day 10 after my first treatment. And she was right – almost to the exact hour.
I had my hair in a low ponytail. I was still spending every hour of every day in the recliner – sleeping there as well. I had garnered enough energy to try to take a shower. I was going to put my hair in a shower cap – there was not enough energy in my body to deal with blow drying my hair or messing much with it. As I took the hair tie off from around my ponytail, there were about 20 strands of hair attached.
I immediately thought “That’s odd. I didn’t feel it pulling on my hair.” I grabbed my brush and started going through my hair, and it was coming out in huge clumps.
It was happening.
I don’t think I even took a shower if memory serves correctly. I went downstairs with my brush and clumps of hair in hand. My mother-in-law and husband were in the family room and I think that they were as surprised as I was at how quickly things progressed.
I couldn’t imagine extending the process of losing my hair strand by strand over the course of a day or two. The thought of watching it thin, or bald spots developing, was only prolonging the inevitable. So, I decided to jump into the deep end of the pool and shave it – that day. Right then.
The first call was to one of my best friends, Andrea Mann, who is the most incredible photographer. She has captured some of my favorite moments with my kids over the years. She lives in my neighborhood and was willing to come over to take photos. She had offered a few weeks prior, but once Covid hit and we were all bound to our homes – I wasn’t sure if she would be willing. But, she said “What time? I’ll be there.” She came in the back gate of our yard so that she wouldn’t have to come into the house. (This was during the part of Covid when we didn’t even let friends visit. But also, my immune system was at zero.)
The entire process of shaving my head took about 15 minutes but it seemed like a lifetime. The sound of the scissors and clippers taking off section after section was like nothing I expected. Rows of thick, dark hair were falling to the ground of our backyard like leaves in the fall. I didn’t expect it to be an emotional experience. I didn’t think I would mind losing my hair. It grows back, right? I completely underestimated my response.
Don started by brushing out my hair to put it in bubbles. Globs of hair were coming out in the brush. It was overwhelming.
A point frozen in time in my mind’s eye is this: about midway through the process, I looked over my shoulder to see Piper, holding up her phone, videoing as her dad cut off the entire length of my hair. She was sobbing. Not only was she crying as hard as she could cry, but the look of horror was all over her face. It was the first time that I saw the true impact that my cancer had on her. I was so incredibly sad.
We had to stop for a moment. Don leaned over and held me while I cried. I then was able to hug both kids and promise them that I would fight as hard as I could for them.
When you are diagnosed, you go into survival mode. You are just trying to absorb what’s happening and keep putting one foot in front of the other. Beyond fighting the disease, my next biggest goal was keeping my kids’ lives as unaffected as possible. I wanted their life to be normal. I didn’t want them to think of me as sick or even to consider the fact that I may die.
One look at Piper that day let me know that I had failed. My kids understood exactly what was happening to me and how sick I was. My heart broke into a million pieces in that very instant. As long as I live, I’ll never forget the look on her face.
Don then grabbed the clippers and finished the job. Huge piles of hair were now on the ground. I could feel the cool air on my head, as I took the brave step to look at my reflection in my phone’s camera. That first look is wild. It takes you by surprise, for sure. (For about a month afterward, I would walk by a mirror and not recognize myself!)
That night was so odd. It was like the world should have stopped turning for a moment while I got myself together. But just like all things, life went on. We watched TV and ate dinner and talked about nothing much. The only difference in our lives was that I was bald. The stubble that I had left on my head would fall out over the next 48 hours. It was messy and itchy, much like getting a haircut and the shards that get in the cape at the salon.
One of the most precious gifts that I have from that day is the photographs. Andrea gave me a gift that I can never repay. Looking at these photos now reminds me of the goodness of God and how far I’ve come in this journey.
It IS just hair, and it DOES grow back. But it’s never the same and the emotional toll weighs more than you could ever imagine. So be kind and offer a lot of grace.
