I’m jumping ahead a few months in my cancer journey, because let’s face it, haircuts are major milestones! But fear not, I’ll rewind next time to share more about navigating treatment plans and playing the second-opinion game with medical experts.
Phase one of treatment involved 28 days of radiation and daily Xeloda pills. When the nurse skipped over “hair loss” in her list of side effects, I mentally high-fived the universe.
The first couple of weeks were a breeze. Rex’s Cancer Center became my second home, conveniently close to my office. I’d slip out at 1 pm, get zapped, and be back at my desk by 1:45, looking like a poster child for juggling cancer and a career.
Then reality hit in week three. Cue the dramatic hospital stint that became my extended stay for the month of July at The Rex-Carlton (a tale for another blog).
Now, let’s talk hospital glam. Picture me, tethered to the bed with a NG tube and an IV cocktail party featuring everything from potassium perks (I will share about the nurse that fought for me during a hospital wide potassium shortage later) to antibiotic punchlines. Showers were bucket affairs, and dry shampoo became my BFF, thanks to a tag team effort by heroic nurses and my mom and sisters.
Post-hospital escape, I emerged weak but victorious, only to face a new hair challenge. Enter Jodie, my lifelong hair guru. I texted her my hospital hair horror story, and like a fairy godmother armed with dry shampoo (Amika, the holy grail), she swooped in to save the day with a home visit haircut. Perfect length for ponytails (strategic puking planning, folks) and low maintenance glam. Jodie saved the day.
The second phase of my treatment was chemo infusions–eight rounds over four months. Meeting the chemotherapy nurse, I braced myself for the inevitable: hair loss. Cold capping was a no-go (thanks, chemo cold sensitivity side effects), and suddenly, wig shopping was on the agenda.
Enter The Gallery of Wigs, conveniently located a wig’s throw from my house. My bestie Meg came armed with snacks (three protein bars and enough trail mix to feed an army). Jessi, our wig whisperer, made the daunting process surprisingly fun. Trying on wigs pre-hair loss was a game-changer, though we did a marathon trying session worthy of an appetite.
I can’t say enough good things about Jessi. She made me feel completely at ease, and her patience and kindness were beyond measure. She went above and beyond by ordering wigs that perfectly matched my color and style preferences. Wigs became a regular part of my daily attire, but even the best wigs have a shelf life (and I had a growing collection of mannequin heads to prove it).
With wig game strong, I faced the inevitable shedding season. Showers turned into tearful trials as clumps of hair regularly clogged the drain. My husband, bless him, became a professional hair extractor and shower-side therapist.
I’ll always remember that moment vividly. Standing in the shower, I noticed the water creeping up around my ankles. Looking down, I saw the drain was blocked. Overwhelmed, I started crying. Exhausted, I knelt down to untangle the strands of hair wrapped around the drain cover. My husband heard me crying and ran into the bathroom. With a gentle pull of the shower curtain, he understood immediately. Wrapping me in a towel, he gently led me out of the shower, assuring me he would take care of it. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the drain as he cleaned it out. The amount of hair he removed was startling. He comforted me, reminding me it was just hair and would grow back.
Control over my hair’s fate was fleeting, a cruel reminder of my treatment’s grip. Shaving my head loomed as an option, but Jodie, ever the voice of reason, talked me down. Thank goodness I listened; regrowth was a smoother ride.
Jumping ahead to last week, I finally had my first haircut in nearly two years. Throughout my treatment journey, I kept Jodie in the loop with updates on my hair growth. She even worked her magic on some wigs, styling them to match my natural look seamlessly. It took a couple of months post-infusion chemo before I began to see my hair returning. During this period, I continued wearing a wig as my hair slowly grew back. I was thrilled when it finally reached a length that required a haircut, though I was nervous about how Jodie would handle the varying lengths and textures. True to form, she exceeded my expectations, skillfully blending my hair to recreate its original look.
I feel incredibly fortunate to have a hairstylist who’s also been a lifeline, and to live just a stone’s throw from a fantastic wig shop. Quality wigs come with a price tag, but they were my saving grace throughout treatment.
So, here’s to haircuts that mark resilience and friendships that endure (even when they’re styled on mannequins). Next week, I promise to spill the beans on treatment plans and the drama of second opinions.