Liberation (2016)

April 21, 2016

We all know "losing" one's hair is more often a part of chemotherapy than not. My case is no exception. I'm receiving the drug adriamyacin, known as the red devil because of its color, which causes total hair loss. Anyone who knows me, knows me by my hair. After hearing of my diagnosis, many people's first reaction is to ask, "Oh, will you lose your hair?" Yes, I'll lose my hair. Also, I might die.

I chose to lose my hair by my own hand. Not for a moment was I inclined to wait until it fell out on its own. I have so much thick & curly hair that you have to say "thick & curly" twice to get the point across. And why wait? It feels like added victimization to wait until the drug eventually forces the follicles to release the hair. I didn't want to see my hair fall out in the sink, on the floor, on the pillow case. I didn't want a clump of it in my hand in the shower. So I decided to beat inevitability to the punch and remove the extemporaneous parts first. Let the drug do what it's supposed to do and when the follicles do decide to release, it'll be so much chaff and stubble. I'm already accustomed to seeing myself mostly hairless; when the rest comes out it'll be sad and a moment of acknowledgement. Then, out the door with a hat or scarf.

This slight tweak, making this my own, has made a remarkable difference in my attitude about the side effects. I implore women (and the mothers of little ones) who are fighting cancer; consider shaving it off if you know it will come out. Don't make yourself or your loved ones endure the unnecessary trauma of pulling it out. Bleh. Just no. I'm not a wig kinda gal but I know cancer survivors who said they had a great time with different wigs and changing them out just like I would change my hat or scarf. Cut it ultra short in a pixie and die it pink, purple, green; whatever. Shave it and go natural like me. Do that; any of that; do it all. Empower yourself in whatever way works.

You may find the experience liberating. For me, always having a thick head of hair, always putting energy into shaping it, conditioning it, checking it in the mirror, tucking it into a hat, being aware of my hair every time I walk into a new room because everyone in there is aware of it; whew it's exhausting. Now, I just walk in a room. Now, I see myself when I look in the mirror. I don't even wear scarves or hats as much as I expected I would because I really only feel like me when it's just me, unadorned. Wearing a scarf or hat on my pate is more for protection from sun or rain; I remove it when the need is gone.

We are so tied to our physical appearance. At times in my life I've been considered pretty or even beautiful because of my hair or figure. Now...I have no hair and my figure is not remotely what it used to be. But I still feel beautiful and more like "me" than ever. Why is that? The hooks of certain definitions of "beauty" have been loosened if not released all together. How grateful I am for this development is impossible to describe. "Drunk with freedom" comes to mind.

The irony: it's been 4 weeks since I shaved my head in preparation for the inevitable fallout. Yet my hair still grows. I have to shave it back to keep it from growing out too much! Oh well. Do I regret shaving it? Nope. My energetic time is such a commodity that I need to spend as little time as possible in the "getting dressed" phase of my day. Less is more.

The lessons of a shaved head.