Sitting in the room with my oncologist for the first time I remember one of the first questions out of my mouth when she told me I needed intense chemotherapy treatment.
Not, "Will I feel sick? Will I feel tired? What are the health risks? Am I going to die?"
The first words out of my mouth were: "WILL I LOSE MY HAIR?"
There are probably far more important questions I should have asked. There are plenty of very real and very scary chemotherapy risks. But like most women facing a cancer diagnosis and chemotherapy treatment- I was seriously concerned about my hair.
Hair is such an ingrained part of femininity in our culture. A woman's hair becomes her staple, her identity, and the main focal point of her physical appearance.
And our culture sure loves to value physical appearance. Being a feminist, I am aware of these cultural assumptions that I have never agreed with, that I do not believe in, and I resonate with the long held belief that inner beauty is true beauty.
But faced with the reality that I will lose all my hair? My thick, beautiful hair that goes down past my chest? That I might not only lose the hair on my head but eyebrows and eyelashes as well?
I had never felt more ugly. I had never felt more disgusted by what I was about to become. Despite all the feminism I have pumping through my body. Which is in greater amounts than these chemotherapy drugs.
That is one thing we should not forget as feminists. We are not immune to cultural expectations and stereotypes. We are not immune to our own physical expectations, insecurities, and fears. And there is nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all. We live here too, after all.
Hair is often connected to personality. It is a reflection of a woman's individuality in a shallow world. Redheads are unique and spunky. Blondes are sexy and fun. Brunettes are dark and mysterious. Curly heads are sassy. Straight heads are serious. The list of stereotypes goes on and on and on.
So what are bald chicks? Just sad little cancer patients. Poor little survivor. Poor little chemo duck.
But how to deal with it? How to deal with this blinding fear that hair equals beauty? How to deal with your own self disgust when you KNOW in your bones that the feminism that you believe so deeply knows that to be complete and utter bullshit?
Smash the patriarchy.
This chemo may take my hair, my eyelashes, and my eyebrows. It may make me look pale and weak. It may make my skin dry. It may take away my spot in the conventional beauty myth for the next few months. But these are physical imperfections, considered imperfections by a society that believes physical appearance must come before health and happiness. Killing this tumor is far more important than keeping my hair. And that's what I need to remember. What most cancer patients should remember. We like to hate the chemo because it is destroying our body as it destroys the cancer. But without it we'd just be a big ball of cancer. And that would suck even more.
My hair does not define me. Losing my hair will not change who I am. I will still be a wonderful mother, a compassionate friend, a passionate writer, an empathetic soul, a literary mind, and the awesome individual that I am. My hair loss will not change any of that.
Pro tip: Grieve for your hair. You need to do it. We are women and it is human for us to feel this blinding fear of the unknown that is a big bald head. But bald can be beautiful too. Even writing this I still struggle to believe it but I want to so, so bad. It is the mark of being a fighter, of surviving against this cancer threatening to eat away my body.
And what is more beautiful than that?
I felt more lost about my hair until I went and covered my bases. Yes, bald may be beautiful but I may not be comfortable with that amount of strength when the time comes. And I am on a ticking clock. My doctor gave me about two/three weeks from the start of chemotherapy. So my hair could be taking a quick exit as soon as February 27th. Not that I am counting. (Still human, remember?)
So here are the steps I have taken to keep my confidence in spite of such an earth shattering blow to my femininity.
1. Get some pretty scarves and hats!
A trip to the hippy shop at the mall yielded some excellent results. Pretty, pretty scarves and some nice, soft hemp hats. Pinterest has many, many different head scarf tying ideas so I am sure that will keep me busy when the time comes. I have heard and read that the wigs are hot and can be uncomfortable so I wanted to make sure I was covered in the scarf area.
2. Go get that damn wig. I know I'll thank myself for that advance preparation later.
I thought shopping for the wig would be a devastating, depressing moment. The finale to my hair funeral. The dark magic to bring the lightening rod of my baldness down on my head.
So not the case. I went with my lovely sister, Angela, and we found a cute wig shop in Green Bay called Voga Wigs. The wig shop was bright and happy. The lady that helped me pick out my wig inspired me with her own survivor story of battling cancer (a way worse kind than mine) and kicking its ass. And she was gorgeous. Her hair came back straight instead of curly, she told me. So I wonder now if my hair will come back curly. I've always wanted curly hair. So hey, maybe that'll be a bright spot. I was surprised at how fast I found my wig. I only needed to try on four before I found the winner.
There are two main wig options. Synthetic or real hair? Synthetic has pros and cons like most things do. Pros: no need to style it everyday because it's already styled and ready to go. Cons: you can't change it. You can't dye it or curl it. I went with synthetic hair because it was cheaper and now I won't have to set aside an hour every morning to do my hair. Plus the real hair didn't look as good which is pretty surprising.
So here is the finished product. It's pretty and matches my own hair pretty well. I didn't get an after cut picture (the wig lady cut it nice and fixed the bangs) but everyone will see it soon enough.
Not bad! This losing the hair thing is a lot easier when you have the choice to slap some hair on your head whenever you like.
So go get that wig if you feel you need it. And do it in advance so that way you won't feel like your hair is just going to fly out of your head and you will be left unprepared. And don't forget to seat belt your wig in when you head home.
Step 3: Go get a haircut. Just do it.
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| This is the new do- coming soon. |
I can sit around and watch the clock. Check the shower drain every morning waiting for the moment to come. Or I can take charge and just chop this shit off now.
It gets to a point that your hair begins to define you too much in treatment. At least for me- fresh smack in the beginning. It's the main focal point of my attention. Every morning I wash it, curl it, and comb it in this state of melancholy obsession.
Nope. Get rid of it. So when I'm done with my chemo treatments this week I am going to my wonderful stylist who has come to know my hair so well and I am getting it chopped and donated.
I'll make that first step instead of waiting for it to come to me. It's just hair. I'll get rid of it first. Take back your power. Take back your confidence. It's just hair. I'm not going to hang on to the last strand, waiting in vain that chemo won't take my hair. Nooo, not my hair! It will spare me!
Bollocks. It will take my hair. It will come for my hair. So I'm going to beat the sucker to it and take it first. That's part of taking back the power. And it's my hair and therefore, my power.
4. I have heard this suggestion from many people and I think it's the winner. When the hair starts to fall out- just shave it, buzz it, get rid of all of it. But have a hair party first.
If you're a mom, you have to remember that this will be shocking to your kids. Adrian is already freaked out about my hair. When I told him that mom would lose her hair he looked at me and said,"But you will look like a man!"
Yikes kiddo. That hit me right in the ovaries.
But that's still pretty funny. Kids bring out the best inspiration. At least mine does for me. So when the time comes I'm handing that little angelic boy some sharpies, some paint, and some (supervised) scissors and we are going to go to town making my hair as wild and wacky before the final buzz.
It will be a good bonding moment for me and him. And most importantly, will help the transition for him.
And save me from the traumatic Adele listening buzz session in my bathroom that it does not need to be.
Grumpy cat digs the wig. I think it really brings out his eyes.
