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| 09.23.2017 |
Let's take a little recap down memory lane, shall we?
July 26, 2017.
The first few words I heard out of my oncologist's mouth in response to "was it cancerous?" was: "Yes ... but at least you get to keep your hair!"
... To which I lost my hair approximately six and a half weeks later. All of it.
A day before my 21st birthday, actually.
It wasn't your typical scene in the shower where I looked down and found clumps of hair falling out to my surprise.
No, it was more painful than that.
You see, I wasn't expecting to lose my hair. So I did absolutely nothing with it, aside from wash it. Days were long from chemotherapy, so I lived in hats. I threw my hair into a low bun, messy as all get-out, and garnished it with a frumpy baseball cap to hide the mess and, let's be real, hide my face.
About four weeks into this fashion statement, my hair started to become matted. I assumed it was from never brushing it. It got messy under that hat anyway, why put in more effort?
Well, the hat ended up pushing all of the hair down and into mini dreadlocks. I didn't care because I slept most of the time, and when I was awake, I was in said hat.
My scalp hurt all the time. One day, I took a shower and just could not run the shampoo through the dreads anymore. I tried to clean my scalp the best I could and said "to hell with the rest."
Showering was a pretty long process, so I went downstairs after I was done and asked my mom to brush my hair like she used to when I was a little girl.
It hurt.
She brushed slowly, and carefully, breaking the chore into small sections. More hair was coming out than was getting brushed, and I didn't notice it until about halfway through the job.
By the end of it all, there was a clump of hair sitting next to us on the couch big enough to make a wig out of.
I didn't look bald or bald-patched from what I could remember of that night, but I did have way less hair than I did when I woke up that day. Granted, I had very long, very thick hair, and a lot of it. That was probably the first time it was all brushed out in weeks. By the time my mom was done brushing it all out, I just looked like someone with very thin, fine hair.
But my scalp continued to hurt, despite being more gentle with it. I still wore hats and that's probably what did it. I actually later learned that it's very common for the hair and skin to hurt or even itch as it falls/comes out.
I had a conversation with someone who had a similar experience and described it to the T when recalling what it was like to lose the hair on her arms and legs. That was actually a good part for me. I always hated my arm hair. It's funny how we can hate the stuff on our body and love the rest on our head.
The day before my birthday I had had enough. The next thing I knew, I was kneeling outside on a cushion from the patio furniture. Chris took a tickly-buzzcut-man thing to my head, and ten minutes later I was bald. Baldish.
It wasn't until my next round of chemo that the tiny hairs fell out once and for all. Such a weird thing to wash your hair with baby soap and still look down to see little hairs going down the drain or sticking to my lathered hands.
Hair is an emotional thing.
When I lost it, I was upset that I not only had "Cancer Patient" written right across my white, shiny skull, but I also was this 21-year-old in college who was supposed to be in the "best years of her life." Seeing all these college girls on campus and thinking to myself, these are the years everyone says is their prime and that was stolen from me.
Hair is truly part of our identity, and us feminine women love to play with it and style it and just have it...
Treatment ended in October 2017 and my hair started to grow back in February 2018. I received compliments from the day I decided to leave my wig at home. So many people said it fit me, or that they wish they were brave enough to have a hairstyle like that ... but it didn't phase me at the time. I certainly didn't choose that haircut but I obviously wasn't going to explain the entire nine yards to strangers. I already felt like I had a neon target on my back that made me look different from everyone else on campus. Not to mention, finding an eyebrow pencil to match your new-colored hair is super difficult.
And besides, I felt like it didn't fit me. All the nice compliments in the world couldn't convince me I looked just fine. I didn't feel as cute as people told me I was and I sure as heck didn't have a clue what I was doing with it when I tried styling it.
I've learned a lot from losing my hair and regrowing it out. Mainly lessons of patience, but mostly that hair is just a thing. There are way more pressing issues in the world to worry about. Then again, there are also less pressing issues existing in the world, but for now, while I ride out this ugly phase, I'll learn to appreciate the simplicity and natural beauty of short hair.
About a year ago this month, I got my first haircut (You can read about it here). I had what they call "chemo curls" and they needed to be managed. My stylist ended up giving me the cut for free. Yuck. But nonetheless, she was kind for doing so.
Since then, I have had cuts every 6-8 weeks. It's funny, I always read about cancer survivors grieving about their haircuts because they want to hold on to every inch they've just got back. I can honestly say I've always been generally excited to care for my hair and make it as healthy as I can, but I can also honestly say I was feeling a little hesitant for the first time this last week.
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| 05.09.2019 |
It's funny that I "Yuck" so much because I try and preach that the only reason we as a society "Yuck" is because we as a society deem long hair as beautiful and short hair as different.
I say, rock your hair, learn to love yourself and ultimately, just give yourself the tender care you may need right now.
After all, what makes you beautiful isn't the topical things in life.
But you don't need to have gone through cancer to know that.
Take care,
Abi
P.S. - Let me know in a comment below what your hair means to you. Let's share perspectives.
