The worst part is getting the dx.
The next worst is facing your own mortality
sadness, confusion and efforts at helping
The next worse is your family
The next worse is the effects of the chemotherapy.
That is what I am going to talk about-especially losing my hair.
I knew it was going to come out. The doctor and nurse both told me it would. It wasn’t a matter of maybe, 45% of the people on this drug loose 75%
of their hare. NO, 100% of people loose most of their hair. Scalp hair, some eyelashes and eyebrows, some body hair. No one mentioned that the first hairs to go are those little private ones. That was a shock. No one tells you how it comes out. I will tell you. It comes out when you touch your hair, when you brush it. Wash it, think about it or look to see how thin it is. Clumps of it stay in bed asleep when you get up in the morning. When you brush your hair. Strands take flight and hover in the air. I thought I was growing grandpa nose hair and when I pulled one out a full length head hair.
The chemo book tells you to prepare for loosing your hair.
So I did. I had it all cut off and I thought about a wig. The more I thought the less
appealing a wig was. I tried some on at the wig shop. In everyone of them I looked like a guy in drag. One transformed me into Dustin Hoffman in Tootsie. I kept saying I don’t think I ‘m going to need a wig. Ill just be bald for a while. My mom kept saying
“You never know , there could be times when what you most want is a wig” .
This from a woman who was having her 80th birthday party for 100 people. Finally, I got it...
Birthday party, Family, looks good....wig. So, I asked, I bet you’d like me to wear a wig at your birthday party, hmmm, she held on “yes, I haven’t told everyone (my 100 friends) about you yet. I don’t want to talk about it at the party” That made it easier to get a wig, but not to wear it.
I got this short brown job and had it styled. Wig lady said “oh, it looks so natural it’s just you. First time I wore it was to chemo, you know to get used to it before the party.
The chemo place is a lot like a hair salon-a row of chairs were trained people, in
perky smocks do things to you that you that you hope will change your life.
A new patient came in, sat beside me and said “nice wig, looks so natural, where did
you get it?”
I wore the thing anyway. Some people knew it was a wig, some didn’t give it a second thought and some wore wigs themselves, because they are really really old ladies
with ratty hair. It went okay, sometimes it crept up in back and I had to try to casually grab it with both hands and yank it down. As soon as I got into the car to go home I pulled it back to let my poor sweaty head breath again. That's the last time I wore that thing.