About a month ago, I finally had to face it. I was losing my hair. Damn chemotherapy, while it does its job killing cancer cells, it can also grab a few other cells that it really has no business dealing with. These include your hair roots.
I’ve always had straight, sandy-blonde hair that eventually turned sandy-blonde-grey. My mother, who had lovely dark hair, struggled to make the best of my hair. She braided it, and most nights, she’d wind the ends around a piece of material, hoping that next morning curls would appear. Some days were better than others. She did her best with my front hair, holding it back with a ribbon, but usually, it was a floppy mess over my eyes.
Except for the braids, nothing much has changed. A trip to the hair salon has always been, “Same please, just take a few inches off.” If they blow dry it trying to give a bit of a style, I flatten it down, feeling a little strange as if I am being too vain. I think it brings back memories of my mother and her disappointment that her only daughter ended up with her father’s straight, sandy-blonde hair. Someone once referred to it as ‘mousy blonde’.
So my hair was just my hair. I had no great attachment to it. That is, until I started losing it. It was a gradual process, and I kept hoping that maybe it wouldn’t all disappear, but it did, more or less. My hair, I discovered, was more important to me than I’d ever given it credit.
What was I to do? There was no way I was going to get a wig. That seemed way too vain. For a few weeks, I wore a baseball cap. Then, after a strict talk with a friend, I decided I needed to at least consider a wig, or hair prosthesis. Hair prosthesis – that didn’t sound vain at all.
Finally, I gathered the nerve to visit the Hair and Wigs shop on the Danforth. Corrine, a professional wig maker, was kind and patient.
I told no one what I’d done. It took me four days to put ‘it’ on my head and leave it there for my family to notice.
Tanya came home from work. “Oh, Mum, that looks great. When did you get it? It looks just like your old hair.” Tanya is very sweet but not that fashion conscious so I thought, yeah that’s Tanya she’d say it looked lovely if I had a squirrel tail on my head.
Kailah popped in. Now, she is into fashion and says what she thinks with no hesitation. “Mum, it’s perfect. When did you get it?
Caelan, my fifteen-year-old grandson, took one glance and said, “Wow, Jana you look – he was lost for words – you look like you’re about 50 or 60.”
This was high praise from the boy, who when he was six, saw me wearing a skirt and said, “Jana you look wediculos”.
Yes, his less-than-fashionable grandmother didn’t (and still doesn’t) wear a skirt unless something very important is happening.
You can read about Caelan, his night rider visit to the hospital and his reaction to his Jana having cancer here.
My first public outing wearing my new hair was to my chemotherapy appointment at Sunnybrook. After all, if anyone understands what it’s like to lose your hair, it’ll be these folks who I play musical chairs with on a regular basis. No one stared at me. The doctor smiled and said, “It looks good.” She knew my concerns about wearing a wig. At one of our appointments, we’d discussed hair loss, and she gave me a prescription for a hair prosthesis just in case I decided to get a wig. With a prescription, my insurance may cover some of the cost.
I wore my wig to my local grocery store this week. I have no idea why I had to check it out there, but I did. It gave me some comfort that, again, no one stared.
This week, I’m having coffee with a friend. I’m nervous.
What I’ve learned about chemotherapy and hair loss[i]
Chemotherapy medicines attack fast-growing cancer cells. The medicines also hurt other fast-growing cells in your body. These include cells in your hair roots. Chemotherapy may cause hair loss all over your body, not just on your scalp. Sometimes your eyelash, eyebrow, armpit, pubic and other body hair also falls out. I still have my eyebrows and eyelashes.
Some chemotherapy medicines are more likely than others to cause hair loss. Different doses can cause anything from a slight thinning to complete hair loss.
Hair usually begins falling out two to four weeks after you start treatment. It can fall out very quickly in clumps or gradually. Mine fell out very gradually.
Hair loss usually continues throughout treatment and up to a few weeks afterward. Whether your hair thins or you become completely bald depends on your treatment.
It can take several weeks after treatment for your hair to recover and to begin growing again. Typically, you can expect to regrow your hair three to six months after your treatment ends.
When it starts to grow back, it will probably be slightly different from the hair you lost. But the difference is usually temporary. The new hair might have a different texture or colour. It might be curlier than it was before. It also could be grey until the cells that control the pigment in your hair begin working again. I wonder if I’ll get my mother’s lovely dark hair.
Several treatments have been investigated as possible ways to prevent hair loss. However, none has been completely effective.
Me and my hair – or lack thereof
I am gradually feeling less self-conscious about my new ‘hair’, which really is quite like my old hair. It’s the same colour, same straightness, just slightly more volume. I do feel as if I have something extra on my head – I guess I do — but I expect over time I will get used to that.
I can’t help wondering what my mother would say!
[i] This information was taken from the Mayo Clinic website https://www.mayoclinic.org/tests-procedures/chemotherapy/in-depth/hair-loss/art-20046920 April 10.2025
Health matters from my side of the bed is a collection of short stories about the people I’ve met, the food I’ve eaten, the memories that have been triggered, the thoughts I have, etc., since learning of my cancer diagnosis
