Let us talk hair – or rather, the lack of it. Not all cancer treatment leads to hair loss – but mine has. I knew it was going to, I even knew roughly when to expect it to start happening: I was prepared and had a plan. However, despite all this I was surprised at how badly I still took it.
The oncology nurse asked me the question whether I wanted to try the cold cap. The cold cap is – well – pretty much as it says on the tin. Think of it like a freezing (literally) hat strapped on to the head the idea of which is to constrict blood vessels to the hair and perhaps reduce the amount of chemotherapy drugs getting into the hair follicles which may reduce hair loss.
After having been in contact with someone who did use this and by reading about it and reading forum threads from others who had used it, I had already decided no, to the cold cap. From what I could discern it would mean freezing myself and my head in a manner which was quite painful for anything up to two hours each time I had chemotherapy for a process that only might reduce the amount of hair loss a bit and just as much may not work at all – a lot of operative words there! This seemed rather pointless to me: extra pain for a possible reduction only, which would still leave me with patchy, thinned hair. No thanks.
So, my plan was this: get a short haircut – which I did and I ended up with a fabulous short do that I never would have tried otherwise and which I rather liked – for the two weeks I had it! Then, as soon as I noticed hair going it would be out with the clippers and down to a grade two.
On the twelfth day after my first chemo I noticed a change in my hair. Firstly, the wonderful styling of my new haircut (done by MOTH* with his hair wax and whom I called Fabio whilst he styled me) did not stay in place. I saw my mum that day and I said my hair seemed weird; she felt it and said that it was sad hair – and she was right. It felt very silky soft but in a limp sort of way.
Day 13: (I did mention I was keeping explicit notes on what happened when– maybe there’ll be a graph to go with the spreadsheet some time). I had been expecting the hair fallout around the two-week mark and on day 13 the time had come. There I was, eating toast and jam, having a coffee and I ran my hand through my hair and oh dear, what a lot came out. In the shower, it was as if it were hair not water cascading down. I cried. Wrapping myself in my dressing gown I went downstairs and cried at MOTH. It was clipper day. We did the shopping, bought iced cinnamon buns for emotional support and then buzzzzzzzzz.
Over the next few days it continued to come out thick and fast until I was more pink and fuzzy than anything else. Horrible. Cold. Alien. This was all I could think and feel when I looked at myself. My head was sore too and I found that the small fuzz I had would be pulled on hats or pillow cases and hurt even more and so on advice from someone who had already been through it all, I decided to wet shave my head – which took me three attempts as I was trying to do it myself and that is harder than you would think.
I had been trying to hide my bald head from MOTH – this was not how I wanted him to see me, but it is impossible. As much as anything, you need time occasionally to not have anything on your head: 24-hour coverings can get hot and uncomfortable, so in the end I unveiled the bald to him and he helped my shave off the few last tufts I couldn’t reach.
I have never had great hair and rarely did much with it, I knew this was going to happen and it is just a thing that is part of the process of getting rid of my cancer. Compared to having a tumour and the horrible side-effects of the treatment, this really is just cosmetic and shouldn’t matter – but somehow it does. It is an obvious and real outward sign that screams – I have cancer.
I still hate it but I am trying to just go: it is what it is (I find I am saying this a lot now). MOTH and I have joked that the fuzz would be just perfect for sticking Fuzzy Felt to: we both have fond memories of the farmyard set with the little tractor and sheep. I am acquiring an extensive collection of various head coverings: scarves, hats, snoods etc. I also have a wig. My sister and I went wig shopping and were hoping to have some fun trying on some of the more outlandish ones. However, the lady in the shop was very ‘right and proper’ and it was apparent that this kind of behaviour would not go down well. Very sensibly we picked out a few and I took home Veronica (they all had female names) who I began to call Ronnie, then Ron and now all I can think of is Ron Burgundy!
My eyebrows and eyelashes are starting to thin and I am having to learn the art of make-up: something I never really bothered with much before. I am hoping they won’t go completely otherwise I may have to take-up residence at sci-fi conventions for a while just so I don’t look too out of place. (By the way, if you go on the internet and search ‘bad eyebrows’ you can waste quite some time laughing at some pretty disastrous eyebrow happenings.)
All going well, by Christmas I should have a small covering of new hair and a body free of cancer – what a wonderful Christmas present that will be. Until then I will make the most of my many choices: bald, hat, snood, scarf or Ron Burgundy.
*MOTH Man Of The House