 Following is an inspirational piece about losing your hair during chemo, an excerpt from my new book:
THE CHEMO CAT WALK
I’m a girly girl. I mean that I love being a woman and I have no desire whatsoever to be a man. I like feeling pretty, looking pretty, smelling pretty and all the pretty things that come with being a woman. Womanhood is pretty even when she’s not dressed all the way up. So when a woman discovers she has cancer I’m sure the first thing that comes to thought is a horrible picture in her mind of seeing herself without her hair, eyebrows, eye lashes and (if you’re white, seeing your skin turn a rosy red) and (if you’re a woman of color, seeing your color get a ghoulish gray). I have to say that losing my hair was the only thing I didn’t want to do in fighting this disease. I mean, come on, a woman’s hair is her grace, her dignity, her crown, her soul; or is it? I cried buckets over the fact that I didn’t want to be bald. But, I had no idea that being recruited into this club unwillingly meant that everything in their membership would not be to my liking. I remember not being able to pass by a mirror without staring at my face and imaging what I’d look like without hair. I wondered if my bald head had bumps, lumps, dents, or an odd shape. I wondered just how ugly I was going to be when this thing really got going. I had my husband shave my head because I wanted his powerful hands to bless the beginning of my transition. I needed him to be with me as I took the first bold step forward into the battle zone. My son took pictures as my locks fell to the floor and a cool breeze swept over the bare skin of my tiny head. Their laughter became my shield as they joked about my having a TWH (teeny weenie head). Afterwards, I went out into the world with my bald head held high, not low in shame. About a week later, the little stubble I had began to evaporate in patches and my head looked like I had some kind of dirty hair disease, so I had to get my wigs out, washed, and in order. There was no way I was going to be some ugly bald chick, so I didn’t stop at the wigs, I got my makeup stocked, my clothing updated (a great excuse for a shopping spree) and I put on a new attitude. I wasn’t one of those women who wear wigs, get extensions, hair weaves or tracks and pretends it’s my natural hair. I let my wild side go by wearing my wigs long one day, short the next. I was a blonde, spiked, brunette, red head or whatever I wanted on any given day. When my hot flashes kicked in and, honey, they kick in, there were occasions when I simply took my wig off and it didn’t matter who was around or where I was. I don’t remember when I graduated to REALITY, but somewhere I arrived at a point where having a bald head from chemo was no longer an issue for me. It was an issue for those who didn’t have breast cancer and trust me when I say I didn’t and still don’t care what ignorant people think. Anyway, I did my chemo the only way I knew how; my way. I looked great (even though I felt miserable most of the time), during my chemo process because I refused to let my chemo healing take my womanhood. Now that chemo is over, I still wear my wigs sometime; it’s a mood thing for me. But when I sport my short natural, I am a queen wearing my dignity, who answers only to her God. I am confident and free in my thinking and loving every second of this life. Ironically there is something very spiritually moving when a woman shaves her head. It is as if she is revealing her all and yet she is keeping the best parts of herself to herself, to be given and shared with someone of like mind. So girls, don’t sweat the small stuff, there are definitely some hair, eyebrows, eyelashes and chemo free days at the end of the rainbow. Soon chemo will be over and your hair will grow back and soon you will be complaining about having to make that hair appointment to manage it. In the meantime, ladies, strut your stuff on the chemo cat walk.
An excerpt from the book: HER 2, Memoirs of a Breast Cancer Warrior, by Debra D. Sawyer |
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