Second Round Down

All of my hair is now sitting in a brown paper grocery bag.

Before I continue my hair saga story, let me just say this. So far, losing my hair has been the worst thing about my cancer treatment. And if having a bald head for several months is as bad as it gets, I am very lucky---lucky indeed.

So, the night before my second treatment, I couldn’t sleep. I was worried about everything: would the nurse be able to access my port; would it hurt when she stuck the needle in my port; would the Rituxan start hurting my throat like it did last time; would I have unusual side effects during the infusion. In addition I was very uncomfortable. I couldn’t rest my head down flat because my hair was all balled up into 3 or 5 matted nests. (My wig stylist friend later told me this is what happens. As the hair starts to come lose from the head, it works its way back up to the scalp and starts balling itself up.)

After only several hours of sleep, I got up in a panic about 8 AM. We needed to be at the doctor’s office at 9 AM to begin the infusion treatment. I looked at myself in the mirror and broke down in tears. I needed help with my hair. I couldn’t get a comb or brush through my hair, much less my fingers. David was desperately asking how he could help me, but there was really only person for the job and that was my mom. At this point, I tapped into that understood agreement between my mother and me -- the fact that we would do anything for each other night or day. I called my mom in tears and told her I was in desperate need for help. I needed her to come over (she lives just minutes away from us) and help me brush my hair out… I mean literally brush it out. I knew that the process of detangling my hair meant that it would all come out. I needed my mom’s help for this. She herself needed to leave by 9:00 AM to teach her class at the local community college, but by 8:20 she showed up at my house ready to help.

I had set up the bathroom with everything we would need: brush, comb, scissors, shaver, paper bag and a chair for me to sit in. When my mom first saw all the bald spots and matted clumps of hair all over my head, she gasped. I just hugged her. We started to cry, but we controlled our emotions because we had to work fast. She started to comb and brush the matted hair out and just as I anticipated, all my hair started coming out. I asked her as she was struggling with my hair if in her wildest dreams she thought she would be ever doing this. She said, “Never, especially for my own daughter.”

By the time she was done, she had filled a paper shopping bag full with my hair. I now look like those men that flip their hair over their heads to cover bald spots. My entire scalp is now like this. I only have loose strands of hair covering my bald head.

The actual infusion process went well. I slept through most of it. I was cold, but there were plenty of blankets to keep me warm. For the first time, I chatted with a fellow infusion patient. This other woman told me that it was her sister who flew in from Oregon that painstakingly and lovingly brushed her hair out. We agreed losing our hair was one of the hardest parts of chemo treatment, but it was easier letting go with the help of a loved one.


Here I am during the second infusion treatment now wearing a head covering. I am borrowing this cap from a friend who bought it in China. The cap makes me happy. It is bright and colorful.