While not all chemotherapy treatments result in hair loss, when it does, hair loss might be more extensive than you expect.
My hair loss expectation
When I went for my first chemo treatment, I wondered about the nausea (or worse) and hair loss that would be coming. Those were the side effects I had seen on TV, which was my only point of reference, aside from one person I knew through volunteer work that we did together. When she heard that I had breast cancer, she whispered, as she walked by me in a meeting, "Hair loss means ALL hair." That was the extent of our exchange, so I didn’t have the chance to ask any questions. I didn’t fully grasp what she said.
My head and shoulders
For me, losing the hair on my head was no big deal. I didn’t have an emotional connection to it. It was not part of my identity. I washed it and left it to airdry. When I used the blow dryer to style my hair, it felt like I should put a gold star on my calendar, because it was such a rare event. My hair was extremely thick, and I used to get it thinned when I got it cut. Oh, the irony. If I knew then what I know now. It was just something that was there.
The truth is, instead of being traumatized by my hair loss, I was fascinated. It didn’t seem real that something I had taken for granted all my life was no longer a given. My hair dropped silently, without any tugging, so I wasn’t even aware that it had fallen on my shoulders until a co-worker offered to brush it off. I rushed to the washroom to check the state of my hair and, even as I stood there, my hair continued to fall, but this time, into the sink. It was all happening so quickly that I had to make an emergency trip to a cancer support centre to pick out a wig.
That trip turned out to be a fun experience that I shared with another co-worker. There was only one wig where my co-worker told me not to turn around to look in the mirror. Again, curious, I peeked and discovered that, with the wrong wig, it was possible to look like a Muppet.
Ultimately, I found a clear winner. I planned to wear it to work the next day, but the state of my hair after trying on multiple wigs gave me no choice but to wear it back to work. From that point onward, I received more compliments on my new hairstyle/wig than I had ever received about my real hair. With this change in my hair status, I discovered there were multiple benefits. I could put on a wig or hat and be ready for the day and not have to worry about styling my hair. I could never have a bad-hair day. I could change my look more frequently than I could with my real hair. I could always see everything going on around me because my hair was never in my eyes.
My face
Having found the benefits of losing the hair on my head, I thought I had dealt with the hair-loss component of my chemo. But it turns out that I wasn’t done. The first thing I noticed was the absence of nose hair, because I experienced it rather than just seeing it. My nose would randomly drip without any advance warning system that told me to grab a tissue. It was just there…on my mouth, my chin, the top I wore, and the objects around me. There was nothing safe. I also noticed, without nose hair, that I sneezed more. I now had a better appreciation of how my nose hair warned me when things were coming out, and helped to filter what went in. Sheer genius.
Next were my eyebrows and eyelashes. I didn’t notice they were gone. Since I wore glasses and didn’t regularly put on makeup, I didn’t notice they weren’t there until I participated in the “Look Good Feel Better” program. As a participant, I was given a box of every kind of makeup I had ever used and then some. Volunteers then taught me how to use it, although, for some aspects of it, I was not a very good student.
For example, while I had heard of an eyebrow pencil and lip liner, I had never used either of them. Now that I was learning about drawing on eyebrows, I felt a sense of panic. Without being able to see very well without my glasses, using a foreign makeup item, and being forced to make two eyebrows match was a big and scary ordeal for me. I didn’t want to look worse because I wore makeup than I did without.
With all these variables in place, plus a time constraint, it should have come as no surprise that I would make a mistake. I made a last-minute decision to put on makeup. I started by outlining my lips, only to discover that the color of my lipliner was way too dark. It turned out that it was because I had used my eyebrow pencil to outline my lips. I was shocked and didn’t even think of eye make-up remover. I used my fingers and rubbed hard. I hoped it wouldn’t smear and create an even bigger mess. Luckily, unlike lipliner, it didn’t smear, and I was able to remove it, apply my lipstick and never use lipliner and an eyebrow pencil again.
The mascara was another story. I was familiar with putting it on, but it didn’t matter how many times I moved it in an upward motion, the eyelashes didn’t become any more noticeable. It wasn’t until I ran my finger along the edge of my eyelids that I realized that I didn’t have eyelashes. I had assumed that if I was given mascara in my makeup kit that I could use it. It was more of a gag gift.
My body (including knees and toes)
Far from the issues with the hair on my head and face, the absence of hair on my body and legs was a bonus. I didn’t have to shave my underarms and legs. I was hairless. At least this change was a pleasant surprise. I had never been so aerodynamic in my life.
My comeback...at least in my eyes
After being so oblivious to much of my hair loss, I was amazed at how quickly I noticed a hairline developing. I was so proud that it was coming back. I had my husband take a picture. I proudly shared the photo with my friends, who only saw that I didn’t have hair. What a letdown. They pitied me when I wanted them to experience my excitement.
In looking back, while I was disappointed by the reaction, I realize that it wasn't fair to expect them to understand. When they experience something in their lives that I have not experienced, I would have had the same reaction. I would show my support, but I could not fully understand what they were going through, at least not in the same way as someone who has had the same experience.
What truly mattered was what I saw and felt. I had come full circle. I was happy.
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