Dead Hair Walking

Yesterday was the first round of my latest chemo cocktail, and so far, I feel very much this morning like I felt yesterday morning.  I even hopped on the elliptical for 30 minutes.  I'll have some side effects soon enough, but for now, it's nice to have the first round out of the way AND to still feel good.

Chemo treatments themselves are almost a non-event (baring any immediate reactions, say...anaphylaxis, to your drugs...but I digress).  You go into an infusion room to join other folks sitting around with IVs,  take your place in a fairly comfy recliner, and then wait for the nurse to get your IV going.  You sit for 2-4 hours while you get your meds, then you pack up and go home.

But each time I've had my first round of chemo, as that first drug made its way down to the IV on that first treatment, I've thought, "Well, there goes my hair..."

Yesterday, I came home from my treatment and the first thing my son asked was, "Has your hair started to fall out?"  Leave it to the 9 year old boy to address the elephant in the room.

I have Dead Hair Walking.  It's gonna happen: it's gonna go.

Chemo induced hair loss just adds insult to injury.  You have a life-threatening disease, you have to have drugs that make you feel icky to combat the disease, then you have to go around bald for 3-6 months.  The bald girl in the mirror is a reminder, every day, of cancer.  If it weren't for the baldness, you could go a couple of days without thinking about cancer, even during your treatment period.  But that bald chick stares back at you every day from the mirror.

Typically, hair loss doesn't start for about 2 weeks after the first round of treatment.  With some drug cocktails, it all falls out at once...with others, it gradually thins until one day, you've got to pull out the razor and put on the wig/hat/scarf.

That day can be absolutely heartbreaking.  We women LOVE our hair.  It's the primary way we express ourselves, and when we lose our locks, we feel like we lose a little bit of our identity.  And for maybe the first time in our course of treatment, we actually look "sick."  And to make it even worse, as the hair falls out, it actually hurts--like a needle piercing your scalp as each hair follicle gives up the ghost.

Champagne Sisters

I have a Champagne Sister this go-round.  Her name is Sonya--she lives less than a block away and had a double mastectomy right after Christmas last year, then went through chemo last spring.  She's my champagne sister because we've recently taken to opening a bottle of champagne and drinking it in fancy flutes to celebrate our successes in our journeys   She's committed to helping me celebrate each round with a bottle of bubbly...what better way to count down from 12?

I first met Sonya the day that her hair was falling out.  We both live in an awesome neighborhood: there are 40 children who get on the bus at the same bus stop nearby.  Our kids have lots of friends for play dates, and many of these kids have fabulous parents.  Really, it's like living in Mayberry.  The morning bus stop can sometimes be the highlight of my day as I catch up on the latest with the Bus Stop Moms.

Last winter, I had heard through the Bus Stop Grapevine about Sonya and that she was going through breast cancer treatment.  I had wanted to meet her, but with 40 kids and associated parents each morning, it hadn't happened until her one particularly painful day.

Sonya had few tears in her eyes and a gaggle of friends saying all the kind things they could think of to comfort her as she was losing her gorgeous tresses: "It will grow back."  (It's true.)  "You're still beautiful." (Also true--really, Sonya is gorgeous.)  Everyone was incredibly supportive of her.  My first words to Sonya were something like, "I've been there, it really sucks, doesn't it.  It just sucks."  Sonya was surrounded by friends who wanted to love her through this horrible day, and here's me: stranger, survivor, saying, "It just sucks.  And it's painful, isn't it?"  She had beautiful wigs to put on her head...but she couldn't--because her balding head HURT TOO DAMN MUCH.  I ran over to the local hospital and found a couple of cheap but cozy terry turbans for her and left them on her doorknob to get her through the next couple of days.

Rocking the Bald

Turns out, though, that Sonya was able to Rock the Bald.  I never saw the same thing on her head...she discovered hats and wigs and scarves, and they all looked great on her.  And by the first day of school this year, she had the most amazing haircut--her super short hair had style!  She not only Rocks the Bald--she rocks the super short regrowth.  Amazing.

So, when I found out I'd be losing my hair YET AGAIN, I went to her for advice on what to wear.  In 1995, I had a wig--but that wig was in such bad shape that it got tossed in the trash after the one time I wore it in 2004 (to stand up at my children's baptism.)  In 2004, I wore hats and turbans.  I didn't care much what I looked like:  I was too tired, and between chemo and infant twins, I rarely left the house, anyway.  This time, though, I want to Rock the Bald, just like Sonya.  So she shared her scarfs, wigs, and scarf tying techniques with me.  She introduced me to her Wig Diva and helped me pick out three new wigs.  She told me to check out Target for supplies--where I found hats for $9!  I then went online and bought a few hats and some bangs to put under them.

I also decided to get a henna tattoo on my bare head that says, "Christy 3 Cancer 0."  Why not?

I am going to Rock the Bald, just like my Champagne Sister.

Now, make no mistake.  The day the hair goes will suck.  I've spent nearly 2 years growing my hair out.  I can finally put it back in any style I want.  I'll go next week to get my hair cut short--and I don't want to!  Losing my hair SUCKS!!!  I don't wanna!

Friends, sometimes it's okay to say, "this just sucks."  Our journey has painful moments, and it's okay to embrace the pain.  Be sad, angry, frustrated.  But then it's time to pick up a champagne flute with a good friend, toast your future good health, and figure out how to Rock the Bald.

Eventually, you'll discover that the baldness is not a sign of your illness.  It's a scar--a sign of your strength in battle.  Be proud: hair or not, you are beautiful.