The Big C: Part 3–HAIR TODAY, GONE TOMORROW

(Read Part 1–Diagnosis here and Part 2–Chemotherapy here)

It turns out not all chemo cocktails cause hair loss. Mine did.

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After the second infusion I started losing my hair. I’m sure you’ve heard people talk about it—how you find hunks of hair on your pillow in the mornings, how handfuls of hair come out in the shower when you’re washing it, and how you look like a refugee from “Shutter Island” with your hair falling out in patches. I didn’t see that movie and am not recommending it—but it came out while I was losing my hair and there was a creepy trailer for it that showed a woman with hair that I felt looked like mine. It wasn’t pretty. And it certainly wasn’t inspirational.

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My husband’s sister, bless her loving heart, sent me several cute head wraps. I asked my sister to trim my hair to easily fit under them. THAT was a riot—she actually used a Flowbee hair cutter. If you haven’t heard of this, it looks kind of like a hair dryer but literally vacuums the ends of your hair into it and trims it a certain amount. Believe it or not, she trims her husband’s hair with the Flowbee all the time. I’m just surprised it didn’t vacuum the hair I had left clean away! After much laughter, I was left with chopped off patchy hair which was only fit to wear under the head wrap. I tried it on—and the laughter turned to tears. “I look like a chemo patient,” I wailed.

“You ARE a chemo patient,” my sister said, crying with me, and our tears turned back to laughter. That’s the way we roll in my family.

Somewhere along the way I heard from the American Cancer Society that there was a free “look good…feel better” class being offered for cancer patients to learn how to use makeup when you lose your eyelashes and eyebrows, and they even provided donated wigs for those who needed them. I had already bought mine—no one told me how long it might take for my hair to fall out and I wanted to be ready. Plus, I didn’t know about this awesome program. But they gave us a zippered vinyl tote bag filled with makeup gathered for our own coloring (which we had described in signing up) with donations from cosmetics companies. It was very helpful and encouraging—and I met the most remarkable young woman in her early 20s who had fought stage 4 cancer and won 3 times. She demonstrated some of the makeup techniques for us. She was incredibly upbeat and inspired me in an uncertain time of not knowing what to expect.

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Eventually, enough hair falls out that you are more than ready for the big reveal—let’s just shave it all off and see what I look like bald. Again I called on my big sis. On the way to bald she carved a heart in the stubble, but I made her shave it all off. She told me she was glad she was behind me so I couldn’t see her tears. Having cancer is hard on everyone who loves you. For the record, I found out I do not make one of those beautiful bald women. My chemo friend Cynthia—now she was beautifully bald!

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My daddy was bald most of my life; and when I married Richard, my dear hubby was getting pretty thin on top. Anticipating the future, he once asked me, “do you think you can love a bald man?” “I’ve loved a bald man all my life, so I don’t know why I should stop now,” was my answer. Unfortunately, I didn’t ask him If he thought he could love a bald woman. Just kidding—my better half was incredibly supportive and complimentary of my fuzzy bald head. And I figured since God knows the number of hairs on my head, I’d just made it easier for Him to count ‘em.

And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered.

Matthew 10:30

Before I went completely bald I had tried on wigs and bought one that was basically my same hairstyle, but decided to go auburn in color. I guess some of wanting to wear a wig was vanity; but what I really wanted was to not always focus on being bald—or having cancer. Because I was teaching, I also didn’t want my college students to always be confronted with the fact that their teacher had cancer. They knew, of course, because I missed classes when I had treatments and the aftermath of chemo. But it just seemed too “in your face” for me to teach in my bald-headed glory. Or even in one of my head wraps. I want to be clear that my decision does not have anything to do with how any other woman chooses to deal with the hair loss. I totally believe bald is beautiful (especially on other people), and admire women who fight cancer boldly and fearlessly—and baldly! And I also understand those who are more comfortable wearing a scarf or head wrap or beanie. Or wig. It’s all okay.

Speaking of beanies, my middle sister knitted me the softest pink beanie that really soothed my bald head (turns out your head hurts when the hair begins growing back). Her daughter crocheted a brim around the edges, and it was so pretty! I actually wound up wearing it to sleep in, because it was so incredibly soft, and you can’t believe how cold your bald head gets at night! Don’t know how my hubby manages.

My sister also made me this most precious prayer shawl. She prayed over me as she knit—a specific prayer for each row. This beautiful shawl comforted, embraced, and kept me warm as I underwent chemo. It is an uplifting, inspiring, humbling, and very personal, incredible gift. It brings tears to my eyes even now as I think about it. Especially as my sister is no longer with us. I just discovered this beautiful site that has prayers that can be prayed while creating prayer shawls, if you are interesting in something like this (I get no compensation, I just found them): https://shawlministry.com/prayers.htm

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Then there was THIS fun, soft, and fluffy beanie she knitted for me with a special kind of yarn called eyelash yarn, almost the exact color of my wig. She intentionally made it to give me relief from wearing my wig, which could be uncomfortable after awhile. When my hair started growing back, it came in Brillo-pad curly and I continued to wear my wig and head wraps until it started looking like hair.

During the two additional years I had infusions, I was often the last patient left (with my sister usually) in the chemo room, as they typically had me come in the afternoon when the other patients were getting done and clearing out of the recliners. I sometimes came bald, sometimes in my wig or scarves; but then there was the time I wore my auburn eyelash beanie. No one said anything until after all the other patients had left and I had dragged my IV pole with me into the bathroom, leaving my sister asleep in one of the recliners. I took my beanie off before I came back into the room, and found the nurses chuckling at my sister being sound asleep in a patient chair (which was no problem at all, just funny since there were no patients, including me, in the room when they saw her). Then they saw my hat in my hand and started laughing even harder. They said they’d been trying to decide all day if I was wearing a hat or just having a really bad hair day! Um, both? Cracked me up!

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I’m not sure if it was that day or another day, but it really doesn’t matter for another story that sort of epitomizes the kind of thing that often happens when my sisters and I get together. I was the last one done with my infusion, of course, and had just checked out at the front desk. There were two individual bathrooms off the waiting room so my Flowbee sis and I each took one preparatory to our hour’s drive home. I was just washing my hands when my sister started calling me to “come help!” I couldn’t imagine what had happened, but rushed to her door and she let me in. She was almost hysterically laughing, had her purse emptied and was drying off all the contents. You may think you know what had happened right now, but you’d probably be wrong. When she calmed down a little, she showed me what had happened. She propped her purse on the edge of the sink and told me how it had tipped into the sink, which turned on the motion-activated faucet and filled her purse with water—while she was otherwise occupied and could do nothing. But as luck would have it, in demonstrating to me where she had set her purse, it tipped over AGAIN, triggered the tap, and filled her purse AGAIN before we could stop it. After drying everything off again and reloading her purse, we walked out, still laughing semi-hysterically. The gals at the desk tried to look like they hadn’t heard us, but we couldn’t keep it to ourselves, so we told them what had happened and they had a good laugh too. They told us they were wondering but were afraid to ask. They may or may not have been shaking their heads as we left.

As I mentioned, once I finished chemo I still had two years of Herceptin infusions because of my HER2 positive results. Herceptin is a targeted therapy that works by attaching to the HER2 receptors, preventing the cancer cells from growing and dividing. As it happened, one of my colleagues in my division at the college had been in the clinical trials for Herceptin (a monoclonal antibody specifically used for cancer that is HER2 receptor positive). The second time she had stage 4 breast cancer, she joined the trial, and was one of 4 who survived with the medication. I have seen a movie about the Herceptin trials which morphed the trial subjects into different characters in the movie, so I wasn’t able to determine if any represented my friend or not. But I really feel I owe her so much because she was willing to go through that trial, which helped evaluate, refine, and enable this relatively new treatment that I received some years later, as well as saving her own life. It’s inspirational to know someone who played such an indirect and yet vital part in my recovery. I’m so thankful for her courage, and her survival.

I had Herceptin infusions scheduled every three weeks for three years; but about 1 1/2 years into it my doctor told me new studies had shown that two years was as effective as three in preventing the return of the cancer, so I was done with that sooner than I had thought. I have since read that new trials found that one year was as effective as two, and even newer trials have now found that 6 months is sufficient. This is great news because it can pose a heart risk, for which I was tested every six months while on Herceptin. I also took an oral medicine, Letrozole, for 5 years following my treatment because my cancer was estrogen-fed. Some people don’t tolerate it well, but I was blessed with no problems with either drug.

But before all that, radiation. Read the next (and last) part of my cancer saga here.