I had my first round of chemo on 12/16/16. The pharmacist talked to me for a long time during my treatment. He said the hair was non-negotiable, and it would fall out less than two weeks after the first treatment. I had already purchased an awesome wig with the help of a close friend and Lisa at LBL in Cedar Falls. But I made the pharmacist repeat it--I will lose my hair. I could tell he wondered if I even had a plan, but I needed to hear it out loud. It’s going to fall out right around Christmas.
I’ve been trying to research what to expect, and I found a great beauty blog from someone who has permanent hair loss. She has a post called, “6 Things Not to Say to Someone Experiencing Hair Loss (and 3 Things You Definitely Should).” If you have said some of these things to me or anyone else—no worries, we all find ourselves saying things like this thinking they might help.
A few years back, I stumbled upon a great article called, “How not to say the wrong thing.” It’s spot on. My cancer is about me. I get the benefit of saying whatever I want about my cancer. It stinks. I’m mad. Others have to tread more lightly.
If someone has gotten any sort of bad new, please don’t use these two words back to them: At Least. “At least it will grow back.” “At least you still have X, Y or Z.” At least. Years ago when I was a teen, my mom died, and of course kids don’t know what to say. But I do remember one note: At least you still have your boyfriend. What?!? No. Just no. But they were kids just like ours--which brings me to a conversation I had with Lucy and Jude.
I asked them if it’s going to bother them when I lose my hair, and Jude said, “No, you’ll just be bald like dad.” So thank you, Chris, for forging the bald path ahead of me. You make it look pretty good, so hopefully I’ll be as lucky.
The other day I saw a note at a store that said, “Laughter is the best medicine” and I thought, unless you need chemotherapy. Then chemo is probably the best medicine.
1 chemo down. 7 to go. Then 6 weeks of daily radiation. Cancer—I’m going to kick your ass this time. I get to say that.
You don’t. :)
I’ve been trying to research what to expect, and I found a great beauty blog from someone who has permanent hair loss. She has a post called, “6 Things Not to Say to Someone Experiencing Hair Loss (and 3 Things You Definitely Should).” If you have said some of these things to me or anyone else—no worries, we all find ourselves saying things like this thinking they might help.
A few years back, I stumbled upon a great article called, “How not to say the wrong thing.” It’s spot on. My cancer is about me. I get the benefit of saying whatever I want about my cancer. It stinks. I’m mad. Others have to tread more lightly.
If someone has gotten any sort of bad new, please don’t use these two words back to them: At Least. “At least it will grow back.” “At least you still have X, Y or Z.” At least. Years ago when I was a teen, my mom died, and of course kids don’t know what to say. But I do remember one note: At least you still have your boyfriend. What?!? No. Just no. But they were kids just like ours--which brings me to a conversation I had with Lucy and Jude.
I asked them if it’s going to bother them when I lose my hair, and Jude said, “No, you’ll just be bald like dad.” So thank you, Chris, for forging the bald path ahead of me. You make it look pretty good, so hopefully I’ll be as lucky.
The other day I saw a note at a store that said, “Laughter is the best medicine” and I thought, unless you need chemotherapy. Then chemo is probably the best medicine.
1 chemo down. 7 to go. Then 6 weeks of daily radiation. Cancer—I’m going to kick your ass this time. I get to say that.
You don’t. :)