Writer and creative Sue Williamson shares her story of hair loss during breast cancer treatment.
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Myhair started falling outthe morning of my second chemo infusion, which is afairly normal timeline.
It was gentle and painless; dreamlike really.
For a moment I was surprised, but of course I knew it was coming.
That night, I stood at the bathroom mirror as my boyfriend shaved my head.
It had taken years to grow my hair long and just 20 seconds to shave it all away.
He offered to drag it out, take things slowly, but I told him not to bother.
Just do it, I said.
There were no tears.
Actually we laughed a little.
Shaving my head during treatment.
I had always loved my hair.
It was long and soft and smelled like coconut conditioner from the health food store.
Strangers stopped to compliment me on the street.
It was my favorite accessory.
Bald and vulnerable, I dove into this unusual new world.
There were hospital floor plans to memorize and medical terms to comprehendport-a-caths, pleural effusion, PIK3CA mutations.
Not recognizing myself in the mirror only added to the surrealism.
Soon, my eyebrows, eyelashes, and body hair fell out.
I wore awigfor work, but ripped it off the second I could.
My scalp hurt and my skin itched from the inside out; wigs only made it worse.
Eventually, I reached my threshold for optional discomfort and ditched them altogether.
Oh, you really dont feel good, my coworker said the first day I showed up bald.
Abandoning wigs reduced my discomfort but made leaving the house hard.
Excuse me, do you have…cancer?
a woman asked me at a coffee shop one day.
My cousin had that kind, and she died.
She shrugged as if to say Good luck with that!
and ordered her latte.
I went home without my coffee and cried.
I missed my hair.
I missed my privacy even more.
I felt guilty for being a trigger.
Just a few months before I had been one of them; now I was their worst fears realized.
Friends, family, and even strangers love to tell cancer patients, Its just hair!
as if hair is the only thing weve lost.
People who say Its just hair!
seem to believe cancer patients no longer deserve vanity and frivolity.
My brief dalliance with wigs.
When I looked in the mirror, I saw the diseases toll.
I knew my friends meant well, but it minimized my feelings and made me feel judged.
If Im being honest, I judged myself, too.
Theyd lose their hair and gain self-lovean inspiration to us all!
But the best card I received during treatment came from my friend Erin.
I dont know if this is appropriate, she wrote.
But your hair was really beautiful, and I imagine that was hard for you to lose.
I hadnt cried in months, but I broke down as I read her words.
She had given me a gift no one else had: validation in mourning my hair.
Between work, treatment, and life, I tried to practice self love.
I did guidedmeditations, breath work, and positive self-talk.
I made friends with other patients and found comfort in not being alone.
Most of us hated losing our hair and couldnt wait until it came back.
My hair, through loss and regrowth during chemotherapy.
My hair started growing back halfway through radiation and I carefully monitored its growth.
At each phase, I tried to love it, but I just couldnt summon the feeling.
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I need one in every color.
Princesses, mermaids, and true love’s kiss, oh my!
