Vanity

On Saturday, the inevitable happened.  People told me it would, but somehow I didn’t think it was going to happen to me.  I thought I might avoid the hair loss that everyone tells me comes with the chemotherapy regimen that is part of this new treatment.  Well, it was not to be.  I was in the shower and had just shampooed my hair when I looked at my hand and saw what appeared to be the very furry paw of a bear.  Hair was everywhere.

Now, to set the scene here, there had been some thinning of my hair early on, noticeable if you looked closely, but still visually acceptable.  Then, about a month ago, the hair started to grow back.  Imagine my delight with less grey and some curl.  The hair was actually coming back thicker, darker and curlier than ever before.  It was kind of cute.

This was a shock, more of a shock when I combed it and another big mass was left in the comb.  This was no casual loss of hair, it was dramatic.  At that point I decided that there were two choices.  I could wait passively and see how this unfolded or I could take control and manage it myself.  The next step was a call to the friend who has been styling my hair since my move to North Carolina, she offered an appointment on Monday. 

I wish I could say that this came easily, but vanity is part of my makeup, more than I realized as I obsessed about baldness, wearing a wig, headscarf alternatives, and the general ideas about femininity.  Losing my hair was a bigger deal than I had imagined, and my anxiety over it was huge.  MJ made it painless, and rather a rite of passage in this process.  Her sensitivity was amazing.

First of all, when I arrived, she had a lovely flower at her styling table so that I could concentrate on its beauty rather than my process, she burned a candle and read my horoscope, fittingly advising me to “keep the grand plan in mind.”  That, along with the choice of an “Angel Card” titled “Release,” set the stage for me to let go of those negative emotions.  I did.  I released the concerns and the ego and the vanity and gave in to the warmth and caring that she offered me.  A lovely head massage and then the clippers set things in motion.  Within minutes my remaining hair was on the floor around us.  It was not traumatic, it was another step in the exploration of this journey handled with sensitivity and compassion.  Yet another of the gifts cancer brings us.

In the two days since my shearing, I’ve come to appreciate the simplicity of very short hair (about ¼ inch long). A quick toweling after the shower and it is dry by the time my teeth are brushed.  Shortly after my diagnosis, my brother in law, who is bald, told me about the day that he gave up his comb.  He talked about it being freeing and a significant step in simplifying his life.  Never having to worry about weather wrecking havoc with the hairstyle, the ease of a convertible ride, not having to remember to put that comb in the pocket.

I’m getting use to the look, rather a shock at first, but it is part of the reality of this disease and its treatment and I’ve made a decision not to contribute to cancer being taboo.  People will see me with no hair, but they will also see me with a wig and scarves.  So far, comments have been kind and it is fun to play with the different looks of my new wigs. 

It is nowhere near what I dreaded, but it is one more step of accepting the reality that I have cancer.  When treatment consisted of a pill I took every morning and side effects were insignificant, it was easy to live with some denial.  Now, a full day of chemo every three weeks, side effects that are harder to ignore, and now the hair loss that is obvious whenever I walk past a mirror, reminds that life has changed. I need to protect my immune system, take lots of pills, think more about what I eat and how I make decisions.  It all make it less easy to live in that world where I could live my life pretty much as I always had.  It is time to make some accommodations to this disease and live more comfortably with the idea that perhaps as long as this chemo continues (12 weeks of the intensive regimen) I might have to admit that my life will change. 

Lessons:

This issue of control is important in a disease where often the feeling can be that there is no control over anything.  There is.  We need to look for it, we need to decide that we will be in charge of our destiny to the extent that we can be.  To give up, to allow others or circumstance to make our decisions for us is an escape into helplessness and and abdication of responsibility.  One of the phrases that I’ve always been troubled by is when someone says…”I had no choice,” or “what could I do?”  Nonsense!  We always have choices, and if we are to take responsibility for our lives, we need to exercise those choices and not abdicate them.  Especially now.