It’s taken about three and a half years to get my hair to below my shoulders, and just top of my pits. My hair grew in much darker, and to this day, is still much darker than my original blonde locks. I also found ways to gel and pomade my hair, and then came in a little chemo curl, which was neat.
I began using hair clips, head bands, and styling my hair with a little attitude. I felt bad for men who lose their hair permanently, and how our culture makes fun of them.Īs my hair started to grow back in the spring, like buds on trees, and the green grass started to grow, I found that I began to not mind short hair. From that day on, I stopped wearing my wig, and I just wore a hat, or a wrap over my head because it got so cold!ĭuring my time being bald, I felt so much empathy for others with hair loss or baldness. One day at work, I became so overheated in a meeting, I took my wig off, and kept it off the rest of the day. Over time, wearing my blonde wig (which looked so much like my old hair) became so much easier. I made it through the workday feeling like my old self a little, but in a new body. Everyone treated me so beautifully They all knew I had cancer, but they didn’t know about my bald head yet. No one had any idea what happened the night before (except my coworker I had texted). The following morning, I wore my wig for the first time, and I walked into work. My husband kissed my bald head and told me “Let’s go to sleep, beautiful.”
MY SPRING DAYS OF MY LIFE FULL
Full of tears, my eyes would not open to face that mirror and see what I looked bald. With teardrops falling, my husband chopped the remaining hair off, and buzzed my head bald. One brave fall night, it was time to shave my head. The label fit, and I found great comfort in natural symbolism during that time. Shedding my hair during fall was like the trees losing their leaves. The next 10 days were spent losing clumps of hair and leaving a trail everywhere I went of me. The pixie cut was bizarre, however, I am so grateful I did, because it prepared me for the next stage. I knew the risks, and the consequences, and the time it would take to grow back. I never wanted short hair, nor did I ever experiment. I had never had this short hair in my life, mainly because I hated my 5-year-old early 90s short hair with bangs. Two treatments into chemo, I started losing my hair, and I had my neighbor, Brenda, cut my hair short to a pixie. It was my sunshine locks and what made me, or so I thought. I spent 30 years growing out my luscious blond locks and being so happy and proud of my own thick hair. Why hair? Hair is what I loved all my life. When my oncologist told me I’d have chemo first before my double mastectomy so we could see how the tumors respond to the chemo (I had five tumors, all grade 3, ER-positive), my first question was, “Will I lose my hair?” My oncologist nodded, and it just gutted me. My attitude became, “If I don’t need it and it’s trying to kill me, just take it out.” I don’t disagree, except, I was OK with my breasts being gone. Our basic needs teach us survival and safety are our front most needs, but once those are met, with a cancer diagnosis, what is our next biggest fear to tackle?įor some it’s losing their breasts and their bodies, their finances and other emotional topics. When I was first diagnosed with breast cancer at age 30, my first fear was losing my life.
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