For me, my hair is kind of like a security blanket of femininity. It assists in making me feel attractive. The power of the hair is strange to me and yet, I can admit that if I have a bad hair day it can have a major impact on my mood and outlook. My attachment to my hair and whatever confidence it raises is to me at times irrationally strong. But it’s strong nevertheless. If I lose any more than a few strands in the shower I start to panic that my hair is falling out. Ridiculous, I know, but I’ve let it become part of my identity.
So I can’t imagine what my mother is feeling watching her hair fall out thanks to chemo. As predicted, her hair is falling out steadily and as she puts it, ‘it’s very upsetting and depressing’. Of course it is. It’s the personification of having cancer and a consistent reminder of how this disease has impacted her life. It’s that visual sign to everyone that you’re sick. Point blank, it sucks.
And when it grows back, it will be a reminder of how she survived it.
Until then, however, my mother has started donning kerchiefs and her wig, which I have to say, is pretty close to what her hair looks like. But it’s not her hair, and I imagine when she takes it off at night she’s faced with reality again (although I’m not sure she can ever avoid reality right now). Her head is extremely tender and hurts to touch, but she still manages to smile through the pain.
And that’s how it’s been for the past couple months. Since being diagnosed and starting treatment, my mother has been admirably brave and her outlook inspiring. I know she wonders what the future will bring (or take away); it’s only natural. But I also know she isn’t letting herself drown in the ‘what if’s’ since life is so unpredictable to start with. Like the warrior she is, she remains vigilant in her quest to fight cancer (with a little love and support from family and friends), while trucking along with every day life doing every day things. And when you see her, she’ll be smiling because the chemo, the hair loss, the exhaustion can all be overcome with the right attitude. And if you know my mother at all, this isn’t a bit surprising.
So I can’t imagine what my mother is feeling watching her hair fall out thanks to chemo. As predicted, her hair is falling out steadily and as she puts it, ‘it’s very upsetting and depressing’. Of course it is. It’s the personification of having cancer and a consistent reminder of how this disease has impacted her life. It’s that visual sign to everyone that you’re sick. Point blank, it sucks.
And when it grows back, it will be a reminder of how she survived it.
Until then, however, my mother has started donning kerchiefs and her wig, which I have to say, is pretty close to what her hair looks like. But it’s not her hair, and I imagine when she takes it off at night she’s faced with reality again (although I’m not sure she can ever avoid reality right now). Her head is extremely tender and hurts to touch, but she still manages to smile through the pain.
And that’s how it’s been for the past couple months. Since being diagnosed and starting treatment, my mother has been admirably brave and her outlook inspiring. I know she wonders what the future will bring (or take away); it’s only natural. But I also know she isn’t letting herself drown in the ‘what if’s’ since life is so unpredictable to start with. Like the warrior she is, she remains vigilant in her quest to fight cancer (with a little love and support from family and friends), while trucking along with every day life doing every day things. And when you see her, she’ll be smiling because the chemo, the hair loss, the exhaustion can all be overcome with the right attitude. And if you know my mother at all, this isn’t a bit surprising.
PS, Happy Birthday Dad!!
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