The first thoughts after hearing the diagnosis of cancer are an emotional mix of fear, panic, sorrow, devastation, isolation, and the horror of losing one’s hair. The patient’s entire world changes in an instant. Denial is replaced with hearing the confirmation. Even with the support systems in place, the patient feels alone. This cancer is happening to them, no one else. The brain is whirring. One of my first thoughts, after the dark plunge into the cancer chasm, was that I did not want to lose my hair. Looking back, it seems superficial, inconsequential, and vain. At the time, it was within the top five of my concerns, coming in after not wanting to die, but it was close.
I did not want my appearance to change. I wanted privacy and discretion, not a bald head blaring my plight to the world.
I ordered head coverings within a few days of my diagnosis. I did not even know if I would be getting chemo, but I ordered scarves, head wraps with the long cloak of material down the back of the neck, and one wig. The wig matched my current hair color, length, and cut. It was a near-perfect match. I put it on in the mirror, and it looked just like me. I never wore it, not once. It is still in a cabinet.
I lost my hair a year and a half into treatment, with the ablative, pre-transplant chemo in the hospital. I brought a hairbrush to the hospital. Dumbest idea ever. I was warned by one of the doctors that my hair would fall out in clumps. It would be all over my pillow and in my food. It was also in the trash can with my barf. He suggested that when I was bothered by this, I ask to have my head shaved. As with many phases of cancer, there are fantasy-driven thoughts like “I’ll see what happens,” “Maybe it won’t be that bad,” and “Why shave my head if there is still some hair on it?”
This doctor was so right. The clumps were endless, ginormous, and distressing. I was a shedding sheepdog. The massive clumps were on my food tray, all over the pillow, in the bed, in the shower, and mixing with the barf as I hung over the trash can. The brief glimpses that I caught of myself in the mirror were truly horrifying. I gasped at my reflection. Recall those pictures of the ugliest dog in the world with bald patches, long stringy hair sprouting randomly, with clumps here and fuzz there? That was me. I asked the nurse to shave my head.
I used my wrap-style head coverings when I was first home and performed tele-med visits for appropriate cases before I was cleared for in-person, so as not to frighten the patients and parents. At home or out and about, I wore baseball caps or beanies, or I went bald. Never the wig. Why not the wig? I saw no reason for it. Who was I fooling? I had to regrow my hair. The wig was a cheat and a fake.
Hair starts growing after about 3 months. At first, I looked like a cotton swab or a light bulb. I got a professional style after a year, so at least it had a shape, and then I left it alone and suffered through the awkward, un-styled, mid-stages.
I never had anyone ask what was wrong with my hair or why did I change lengths so dramatically. No one ever commented on my hair. My friends and family knew, and other folks figured it out. There was no embarrassment or mortification with the public. I suspect most people did not even notice. After all my initial worry, the world did not care.
It took about 2.5 years to achieve shoulder-length hair. It gets thicker as it gets longer. Both dimensions are a process. An amazing bonus for me? I have no grey hair, at 62. My hair grew back to my natural color from years ago. I was never majority grey, but I had some grey hair and occasionally colored my hair. Now? None. This is an anecdote. I cannot promise this for other patients. I have no idea if this will last. I consume no hair growth supplements.
Hair loss went from one of my primary deep worries to a no-brainer, non-issue. Just like my cancer.
Why was it ever such a big deal? I believe that the imagery of the hair falling out is a metaphor for the pieces of the patient’s life slipping away. The hair and the pieces of life all come back.