What's always been, until it's gone

Last February, I reflected on the challenges of a woman walking around with a bald head and no eyelashes or eyebrows. Back then, I told myself, I too would soon grow back a thick cover of hair, hopefully not completely gray! Since that time, I've become way less particular ... any color will do, just give me a full head of hair!

As the weeks and months passed it was painfully clear that my hair was not growing in like most of my fellow chemo-warriors. I compared myself to cancer survivors recovering in the same time period and asked what was wrong with me? The hair that was growing back was sparse at best and looked more like baby hair than a grown woman's.

I asked my stable of healthcare professionals what was going on. They told me that the chemo combined with the hormone-blocking drug I have to take for the next five years put the kibosh on my hair growth.

Now what to do? Hats in hot weather was a sporadic fix, often upset by my new nuclear-charged hot flashes. A wig was out of the question. Taking a hat off to assuage the onset of hot, red cheeks and leaking sweat glands was one thing; removing a wig to bring some relief while having lunch with a friend or meeting with a potential donor was not an option.

So I chose to go au naturel. Which, most of the time, works just fine. One of the blessings of chemo-brain is that I forget I don't have a full head of hair. That is, until there's a cold breeze or I happen to catch a glimpse of my reflection. I see a woman obviously missing hair in several places. It shocks me back into the reality of my tressless state and produces a moment of embarrassment and self-consciousness. But it also forces me to remember!

In moments of retrospection, I've asked myself why I have to be part of that small percentage of cancer survivors having trouble growing their hair back. Here's what I've come up with so far: Chemo-brain is partly due to the chemical attack my brain received during treatment and the repercussions of that life-giving poison. But chemo-brain, or lapses in memory, are also due to the trauma I went through. Not remembering the past and accepting I have little control over the future sits me firmly in the present.

But I know it's important that I don't forget. Even now, when I reread the poetry and journal entries I wrote during treatment, I have no memory whatsoever of writing those words. So when I'm blissfully or, more importantly, unhappily walking through my day, I want to keep in mind one important fact: I'm still here! Being a cancer survivor, I'm painfully reminded of those wonderful people who weren't as lucky as me.

My lack of hair is an easier and less painful way for me to remember what's important and the emotional, spiritual and physical challenges I've overcome. I want to keep in mind that how I nourish my body and the inner dialogue I allow has a direct correlation to my health.

When a cold, tickling breeze hits the back of my head, or I'm applying Rogaine to encourage a thicker head of hair, I remember that my hair is a reminder of what I need to do NOW to be alive tomorrow. My hope is eventually, my hair will grow back and I'll have to rely on photographs to remember what it was like to be "follicly challenged."

Until then, the weather's cooling down and the hats and scarves will be coming out. I plan on using the necessity of keeping my head warm as an invitation to push my fashion-envelope. I'll try not to be envious of all those women and men who have a full head of hair that keeps their head and neck warm. I will curtail making a snide comment when they complain that they have split-ends or can't find a good haircutter. It's easy to take for granted what's always been until it's gone. Another lesson as I walk through life after cancer.