Noun: hair; plural noun: hairs; noun: a hair

Any of the fine thread-like strands growing from the skin of humans, mammals, and some other animals.

 

Noun: loss; plural noun: losses

The fact or process of losing something or someone.

 

Almost always one of the first questions everyone asks when they find out they have to have chemotherapy is ‘Will I lose my hair?’  Even as you say it, you know you sound as though you are being just a bit vain, and you really shouldn’t care as much as you actually do.  But you know how bad your day goes when you have a bad hair day, so how bad is it gonna be when you have no hair days?!

 

I was met with mixed responses from the doctors and nurses when I asked the question.  Most were very sympathetic to the issue, but I did feel like some poo-pooed it a little bit.  I know it is much more important to be alive and looking like an egg than a dead Rapunzel, but still, it is a scary prospect that very few of us would go through if we didn’t have to.

 

I wore the cold-cap for my first round of chemo in an attempt to keep my hair.  I had previously had it chopped very short, as my hair is naturally really curly and you aren’t allowed to use heat or colour or products on your hair if you are trying to preserve it.  My previously shoulder length hair with no product and no GHDs would soon have me looking like Michael Jackson, when he was still with the Jackson 5.

 

About 2 weeks after the first chemo, I was in the car and I ran my fingers through my hair and was slightly horrified when a handful of it just came away.  I repeated the action a few times and each time a massive clump came out.  My scalp was clearly visible and I thought, well, that’s it then.  No point in enduring the brain freeze again if it is all falling out anyway.

 

When I got home I got the clippers out, poured a large glass of wine for myself and for my husband and asked him to shave it all off.  We decided to go for a number 4, so it wasn’t too drastic at first, and with shaking hands, and a tear in his eye, he got to work.

 

Surprisingly I wasn’t bothered.  In fact, in some ways I was glad it was gone.  The actual losing it was not as bad as the thought of losing it.  Once it’s happened you can’t worry about it anymore.  I have spoken to some women who felt that shaving their hair off was cathartic, as it was the one area that they had control over.

 

I still had quite a bit of hair, but over the next week or so, and after the next dose of chemo, it really started to fall out and I then asked my daughter to get the clippers out again and she took it to a number 1 skin-head.  She didn’t have the same tearful reaction as my husband.  She giggled as she did it, and when she was finished she just said ‘oh mum’, laughed, took a photo and snap-chatted it to all her friends.

 

Chemo, of course, doesn’t just cause the hair on your head to fall out.  You lose ALL of your body hair.  I did manage to hang onto a few of my eyelashes, but my eyebrows did fall off.  It is amazing how blank you look with no hair and no eyebrows.  With my steroid bloated, hairless face, I didn’t look all that dissimilar to Matt Lucas, before he lost all that weight.

 

There are some good bits about hair-loss though.  No lady grooming required whatsoever!  Legs, arms, pits, all baby-smooth.  No tash or fluffy cheek hair.  No middle aged Latino chin hairs.  And as for the lady-garden?  It was almost like turning the clock back 3 decades! 

 

Showering and getting ready can be achieved in a fraction of the time with no grooming, shampooing, conditioning, drying or straightening going on.   Shower, dry, stamp on eyebrows, lippy, wig.  You’re good to go.  You have to embrace the good bits!