After my shower this morning, I knew today would be the day. I lost a lot of hair in yesterday’s shower, and even more in today’s. Combing my hair afterwards was basically combing away my hair.

It’s traumatic losing my hair – there’s no way around it. Earlier this week, when I noticed that just putting my fingers through my hair meant coming away with hair, I said maybe it should be shaved this weekend. But then I thought maybe I should try to keep it for as long as possible.

At this point, I think it’s time.

This is the next stage I’ve been dreading. Hair is such a part of our identity. My body has changed throughout the years, and my hair styles have too. But I’ve always had hair. I was born with dirty blonde hair, and now it’s a mix of medium brown and silver. It used to be wavy but for most of my life, it’s been curly. It’s seen some pretty disastrous cuts, starting in kindergarten when supposedly it couldn’t be tamed. Eighth grade, I pulled the front part back with a barrette. After years of a tumultuous relationship with my hair, I found the right cut and product, and have loved it since.

And now it’s time to say good bye.

I recently read a book by Robin Roberts, called Everybody’s Got Something, recommended by my cousin, a breast cancer survivor. This passage was all too relatable:

I know I’m not alone in how punishing it felt to lose my hair. There are studies that show that many women find losing their hair more painful than losing a breast. It’s not all vanity. Hair is how we express ourselves. Our hair frames us. I was drawn to the song India Arie wrote for Melissa Etheridge after she had chemo and would appear on stage with a bald head. And I used that as my anthem:

I am not my hair / I am not this skin / I am a soul that lives within.

I think one reason why this is so difficult is because it makes this breast cancer journey more real. It’s a visible, tangible, constant reminder of what I’m going through. Right now, if you look at me, you can’t tell I’m sick. I notice the bags under my eyes, the constant yawning, the thinning hair, and feel the migraine, nausea, and other side effects. But you wouldn’t notice those.

Once I’m bald, I’ll have that cancer look. And I admit it’s shocking. When seeing other women without hair at Magee, it takes me aback. Now I’ll be one of them, shoving mortality into everyone’s face just by existing.

I have a bunch of head covers I ordered a while back, and hats people have given me, and a couple I already had, but it didn’t make sense to try them on while I still had hair. I couldn’t find any wigs I liked in local stores, so I ordered a couple online. They weren’t expensive, so if I don’t like them, I’ll donate them.

We’re still planning to do some fun styles on the way out. Stay tuned…

In other news, this was definitely a better week compared to last week. I finally got the “magic swizzle” mouthwash for my mouth sores. The taste isn’t great, and the feeling is weird – my whole mouth was numb. But the next day the sores were gone! It sure is magic!

Ironically, the worst symptom this week was the migraine I had every day. I don’t know if it’s from the chemo or just coincidence, since I get migraines. One of my triggers is barometric pressure changes, but I don’t know if I can blame this on Hurricane Ian, because Pittsburgh wasn’t affected until today. The nausea was mostly gone this week, but came back a little yesterday. I’ve been waking up early and needing a daily nap.

It’s a little scary thinking about how much worse I’ll feel the further I get into treatment. One person described the fatigue as having a remote control on a coffee table in front of you and needing an hour just to get it. On the plus side, someone said that Taxol (which I’ll get as weekly chemo in the second phase) is a breeze compared to the A/C.

But now I must take a deep breath and transition into a warrior!