One thing that I will never understand is why they make movies about cancer look so attractive. I watch TV shows and movies where the person who is sick still looks great, and they always seem to be able to keep their hair. And yes, there are treatments in which patients do get to keep their hair, but what society often does is make things look more pleasant than they are, to make people feel more comfortable. Personally, I believe society could benefit from a little more discomfort. Being uncomfortable is where we grow.
The doctors of course warned me that I would lose my hair. When it started, it created a pit in my stomach, not a great feeling. But I became accustomed to the idea, and my family and I would joke about me shedding all around the house. I had extremely long hair at the time, so when it thinned, my dear friend cut it into a shorter length to make it more manageable. Then came time for the shave. My dad did it. We didn’t cry, we just did it. We ripped off the band-aid.
I put my hat on as soon as it was done. I wouldn’t look at myself. I couldn’t touch it. Losing your hair is one of the most traumatic parts of cancer, at least it was for me. It is when you start to look sick, not just feel sick, but look it in a very permanent way.
When I finally looked at myself in the mirror, I wasn’t horrified, just numb. As I looked at myself, not quite recognizing the person staring back at me, I realized that even though I knew my hair would grow back, I was forever changed. There was no going back.
I tried wigs, but they felt so fake to me; inauthentic. Now, I am not judging anyone who chooses to wear a wig. I bought one and planned to use it, but I just felt a bit like a Barbie doll. It felt like I was trying to hide what I was experiencing to make other people comfortable. I still covered my head, and honestly only showed it to a very select few. I didn’t want to see pity in people’s eyes. But those I did show my bald head to didn’t have pity in their eyes…they had pride.
When my hair was barely starting to grow in, I decided to go without my headscarf. We were dressed up for vespers, and I chose not to wear it. I sat across from my sister, and she looked at me and said she was proud of me. Yes, I did not love being bald, but my bald head turned into a sign of my strength. And though I am very, very grateful to have my hair back, in some ways I feel as though I should still be bald. When people look at me now, I no longer look sick. I look normal. My scars are on the inside now, hidden.
My hair feels a bit like a mask. Like it doesn’t quite fit the body it is on, because I still don’t feel like cancer is fully behind me or that I am 100% healed from it. My body went through the physical healing, and now I believe the Lord is working on healing my heart and mind.
Even though the outside has changed back, something inside me has not. And maybe that is the part people don’t always see or understand, that healing is not always visible, and recovery is not always linear. But I am learning that both versions of me are real: the one people see now, and the one that is still becoming whole.
Thank you for sharing ❤️ I will agree, I also do not understand why cancer is attractive in TV. Growing up, I would question why people would look at my big sister who lost her hair from cancer. People were not used to it, they were uncomfortable, because society glamorized cancer. Such a good point.
Thank you