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If truth is beauty, how come no one has their hair done in the library?
~Lily Tomlin
Losing my hair to cancer was so hard for me. Losing my breasts didn’t mean as much as seeing the slow loss of my carefully crafted locks fall to the ground. The day I crumpled in the parking lot of the medical center where my biopsy was performed I knew that I had cancer. I did not have test results yet, but I knew. I also knew that I would lose my hair. Nobody had said anything about chemotherapy, but I knew. The morning after the biopsy, I woke up in tears and told my husband that I had to get my hair done in the next few days. I was facing a cancer diagnosis, I had some sixth sense that I was going to lose my hair, and I needed to pay over $100 to get my highlights revved up. Makes perfect sense, right?
Even though I had surgery to remove the tumors, the surgeon was unable to get perfect margins. This paved the way for chemotherapy to enter, stage left. Dr. D said that not everybody loses their hair to chemo, but that it was rare that people didn’t. His voice got a tiny bit quieter when he said, “…and you have such beautiful, long hair”.
A few weeks before I was to begin chemo, I went in to have my hair cut, which I chronicled in Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow (pun intended). This was so smart. It was hard to see my hair start to fall out, but it would have been worse to have long, straight stands on my pillow each morning.
My hair began to fall out about 12 days after the first chemo infusion, and I was terrified and fascinated to the same time. I could pull out giant clumps of hair and still have more left on my head. I had a lot of hair! At work, I would have to ask colleagues to check my back for rogue hair loss sticking to my back. At one point I wore hats to try to contain the shedding. Finally, it was time to shave my mane (Good-Bye Hair–or–Hello For Next Time).
Stupidly, I had an irrational fear that my hair would never grow back. There are dark corners of the Internet where people say this has happened, and of course, I imagined the same might happen to me. This time last year, when I was going to radiation every day, I began to see some stubble grow in. My eyelashes and eyebrows wouldn’t (and still haven’t) made a big return, but the stubble began to lengthen ever so slowly.
Right now, I have a lot of hair. Every bit of it is curly and thick, but it’s hair. You will often hear me say, “this is not my hair,” because it really isn’t. I was not a curl laden kid before. In fact, I used to spend over 30 minutes each morning adding curl with my trusty curling iron. Although I get tons of compliments on this curly nest, I have been known to say that I am on a quest to grow my hair Rapunzel length. I miss my pony tails. I miss running soft, silky hair through my fingers. I miss gathering my hair in my hands after my shower to squeeze the last drops of water out. I miss flipping my hair off my shoulder–an act I still perform unconsciously several times per week. I have no hair to push back, but the hair flip was/is part of my natural gestures.
I do not doubt that I will one day claim this hair as my own. The curl will probably fade away as will the pain of losing a delicate piece of outward beauty. The simple truth is that for me, hair loss equaled loss of control, loss of beauty, and loss of femininity. The complex and undeniable truth is that I know that all of these things can be recaptured with time.
‘Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.’ ~Keats
Really? Cancer? I Think I Need a New Purse 
There have been compensations for the thinning of my always thin hair during chemotherapy. It came back dark and wavy. The silver (I’m in my 50’s) came back as if someone frosted my hair. I haven’t considered re-growing it to its former chin-length bob because it is not the same. But my hair is wash and wear. It has more body. So, even what was strange became normal. I hope you learn to love your new tresses and the mysteries of beauty that they bring.
My hair is pretty close to wash and wear too. I guess that’s a good trade!
I’m here at your blog because of the Facebook page Sip n Bitch Supper club. I’m going to start chemo in a couple weeks. I dread losing my hair. Dread. I know I will cry. It’s hard to manage–out of everything, it’s the hardest it seems. Even though everyone says, “Oh, it will grow back.” Sure.
Good luck on your journey and thank you for sharing.
I always love a good “hair story”. I hated it when people said things like it’s only hair or it’ll grow back. True enough perhaps, but not what I wanted to hear. In fact, it’s a big reason I felt compelled to write my ebook on preparing for chemo. My hair is now nothing like it was before cancer and chemo, but then many things are not. Thanks for writing about a timeless topic!
I just found out I have breast cancer. I am 39. I feel like you described. Boobs eh take them or leave them. My long curly hair please say it isn’t so! I very sad that it will most likely fall out. The plan is mastectomy and chemo. Radiation if they do find anything in the lymph nodes. MRI didn’t show it but I guess there is always the chance. I feel lost with this diagnoses. I feel angry and cheated!
None of this is easy. I wish you weren’t going through this. Cancer is stupid and it REALLY SUCKS!