Shaving Your Head is Like Skydiving
Hair.
Why is it such a part of our identities as women? Why has it been heralded as one of the most dreaded parts of the cancer journey? Why is seeing clumps of healthy hair in our hand so troubling?
You are seeing a sampling of my swirling thoughts over the last week as I filled our bathroom garbage with handfuls of freshly colored, healthy hair every morning and evening. I felt myself silently obsessing over the topic to the point of my own self-annoyance. At the same time, my ridiculously thick hair continued to look normal for likely much longer than most, so shaving it felt premature.
I have so few side effects, what if I don’t end up losing all my hair? I told myself.
I waited it out a while longer. Maybe I’d defy the odds.
And then it happened.
In what felt like a window of 24 hours, the whole situation went from decent to dreadful. It got ludicrously messy. My scalp ached constantly. My hair was sickly looking, and the part down the middle had enlarged, as had the recession around my face line. You know those aging apps that show you what you’ll look like when you’re older? I felt like I was looking at myself as an 82-year-old.
Not a pleasant sight in the mirror.
I knew it was time. As much as I’ve dismissively treated the topic of hair loss – in the grand scheme of what’s ahead, hair loss was at the bottom of my priority list – if I’m being totally honest, I’d deeply dreaded the moment of shaving my head.
But what I saw in the mirror made now my heart sink. It was time to pull the trigger, and if I put it off any longer, I might chicken out.
I crawled into bed that night and read the May 29th entry of a book a friend had given me. The chapter title was “Giving Up What No Longer Works,” and talked about letting go of things at their proper time, with reverence and compassion for the process.
It was yet another little divine gift that dropped in my lap at just the right time… a distinct pattern I’ve especially noticed at every turn of this journey. I thanked my thick hair for its years of service and called two of my best girlfriends to help me do the deed the next evening.
Meet Gabby and April. Gabby is Henry’s godmother and also a hairstylist. We’ve had lots of fun adventures together all around the world. She’s become a part of our family in every way. April is one of my dear friends who is that quintessential mother figure you always want in your corner. She and I have helped each other off the floor on many occasions over the past 12 years, and we were about to add another milestone to our relational resume.
I took a break from my no-alcohol fast and we popped a bottle of champagne, did my makeup and put on big earrings, and turned up some loud music. We were ready to go.
Allow me to sidestep for a moment. As you all know, Henry has been dreading this moment from the beginning of this journey. He was holding it together pretty well when the three of us girls retreated to my bathroom. But as we began to gear up, Henry came in. He was scared and crying, afraid that everything was about to change. I did my best to assure him as best I knew how. Then, I watched April come over, kneel next to him, and encourage him with some perfect words. Gabby did the same with another set of perfect messages. I looked in awe at my wonderful, beautiful village of women and was reminded why we all need each other so desperately.
He left in better spirits, and we resumed our mission.
April held my hand while Gabby shaved the first section.
I will not lie… seeing the first sections fall off my head was really, really hard. Scary. Terrifying.
But after that, something shifted. My fear turned to some weird form of adrenaline. And adrenaline to liberation. I’ve never gone skydiving. But it felt like a similar process… doing something you never thought you could do, then feeling the adrenaline of the moment, followed by the liberation of victory.
Forty-five minutes later, the three of us looked at each other in the mirror, my bald self sandwiched in between the love of two women who walked with me through the process. It was a beautiful sight to behold.
The next morning, I took Joy on our morning walk through neighboring bridle paths and vineyards. One stretch of the walk meanders through a path of jasmine, followed by a beautifully landscaped path in between two horse pastures. The sun was out, and I gently pulled my hat off for a few minutes. It was the first time my fresh scalp had ever felt the warmth of the sun and the wisp of a gentle breeze since I was an infant. It felt… amazing. Freeing.
Like a good skinny dip in the ocean!
Two simple thoughts dawned on me:
It was going to be ok. Fine, actually.
We can do hard things.
A few concluding thoughts for the week:
I felt led to video our full shaving party, in hopes that it bolsters and encourages other women who might be facing the same mountain. If you’d like to view it, click here.
My White Blood Cell count was back to normal this week, which meant I was able to get chemo infusion on Tuesday and am back on schedule. Yay!
Next Tuesday is a big chemo infusion (two different chemotherapies plus immunotherapy). Please pray my body continues to handle these infusions as well as it has in this past month.
We continue to be deeply grateful for all your love and support, both near and far.
Thank you for climbing this (bald-faced!) mountain with us.
With love,
Evie
