Chemo has so many nasty side effects and yet often the initial worry focuses on hair loss. So why is hair so important?
It is not just chemotherapy that causes hair loss. There are lots of causes of alopecia from male pattern baldness to skin diseases. Some of these are linked to stress and some cause scarring, permanent hair loss. The result with all of them is huge upset. So much of one’s appearance, one’s self-identity depends on hair. To many people bad hair means bad health or poor nutrition. Losing one’s hair because of chemo is both quick and it is associated with the trauma of cancer diagnosis. No wonder we obsess about it. It is the ultimate bad hair day…but it isn’t a day it lasts for months.
And the importance of hair is nothing new. There are legends and stories that show how hair has always been important. Some of the earliest artefacts found by archaeologists are hair ornaments, hair dressing accessories and even nit combs!
There are even stars named after hair. Greek mythology tells of Berenice, Queen of Egypt who gives her hair to the Goddess Aphrodite in gratitude for her husband’s safe return from battle. The goddess puts the hair in the sky where we see it as the constellation known as Berenice’s hair. In some Native American people it is believed that hair is a physical extension of thoughts. So obviously not something you want to cut. And the Bible story of Samson is well known…his strength failed when his hair was cut.
Today many religions have strong beliefs and teachings about hair, how or if it is cut and whether it should be visible or hidden.
So, it is understandable that losing one’s hair is a major trauma.
I knew when I started Doxorubicin as treatment for the alien (aka soft tissue sarcoma) that I was very likely to lose my hair. I was offered scalp cooling but at that stage I just wanted to get on with things and not faff about. Before I started chemo I had my hair cut very short. In some ways this was more of a shock to the system than when I eventually lost it all. I walked out of the hairdresser, caught sight of myself in a shop window and went straight into a store and bought a hat. My hair started falling out towards the end of my first cycle of doxorubicin. The worst part was having bits of shed hair sticking to me in the shower and getting into my eyes as I slept. In the end I got out the dog’s grooming kit and used the clippers. My scalp was really, very sore for a week or two but as soon as the shedding stopped the tenderness cleared up. Now I have a slight layer of fuzz on my head, no eyelashes, a few eyebrow hairs and yet I still have hairy legs. Who said life was fair!
Now the options were a) brave it and face the world with a layer of fuzz, b) hats, c) wigs.
For me a) was not an option. I have huge admiration for the women I see during chemo who are bare headed. But they are usually attractive women with shapely heads. Somehow my parents/grandparents managed to give me their worst features. Wonky teeth…thanks Mum. Small eyes…Mum and Dad. Big nose…well that’s Grandpa getting his genes in. Thankfully I escaped getting Dad’s ears (think Dumbo the elephant…sorry Dad…we loved you and your ears but I never forget the embarrassment of being at the airport before a family holiday where Dad was hailed by a woman who said ‘it must be you I would recognise those ears anywhere. She had been a student with Dad 20 years before). Without hair all my less good features seem to be magnified. And without hair it is COLD.
I started with hats. I have never been a hat wearer apart from woolly hats on winter days. Beanie type hats are convenient but look rather flat on my small head, turbans don’t do a lot for me either. I got quite expert at tying scarves and they did look quite good but they only look right if they go over your ears. Squashed between the scarf and my glasses my ears got sore. But I do like wearing sleeping caps. Now during the 3am flushes I can take my cap off and I cool down in an instant……I could never do that when I had hair.
So, it came down to choice c) wigs. I bought one online which is fine but a bit frumpy. Personally, I think it makes me look like Myra Hindley although my husband denies this. Then I went to the wig fitting at the hospital and got a really attractive NHS wig. The NHS paid £100, the wig was £119 so in effect it cost me £19. I am chuffed with it but it wasn’t perfect fit, I have a very small head. I was wearing a bamboo material cap underneath but I found the wig was riding up and I was always pulling it down at the back. So, I bought a silicone wig grip headband online. It was surprisingly expensive (about £25). Reviews suggested the cheaper crushed velvet bands didn’t work as well. When it came in the post the head-band looked very unimpressive…a bit like a tapeworm in a condom. But it works a dream. It is cold when you first put it on. You can’t wear it with the bamboo liner so it can get a bit itching under the wig but I no longer have to tug at the back to stop it riding up. Success.
I hadn’t realised that the effects of chemo were so seasonal. Having treatment in summer would be very different. No doubt wigs are hot. A bare head might be easier in summer but the new skin is very sun sensitive so I would need a hat outside anyway. I am due to stop chemo in March. But the alien is likely to regrow so summer chemo is something I might still have to try. And I may just have an excuse to buy sunhats.
