I still remember the day a whole clump of hair came loose and landed in my palm. It was around the second week of chemotherapy. I had been warned ahead of time, but seeing dark strands scattered across my pillow still made my chest tighten. It did not hurt at all, so I do not know why the tears came. I think it was the first moment my reflection started to look like a patient.
After holding out a few more days, I finally had it shaved short at a salon. Watching it fall strand by strand every day was harder to bear than letting it go at once. A hairdresser I am close with quietly closed the door and cut it for me, and that small kindness made me tear up again. Once it was shaved, there was less hair to clean off the pillow, and the constant tension of watching it shed eased a great deal. Only then did I understand what people mean when they say cutting it short in advance softens the blow.
I had ordered a wig early on, not long after the diagnosis. I chose one close to my real hair color, and although the human-hair wig was a little pricey, it put my mind at ease whenever I went out. In summer, though, it was too hot to wear for long, so at home I just wrapped a beanie or a cotton scarf around my head. Rather than insisting on the wig, I rotated between beanies, scarves, and hats as the situation called for, which made things far more livable. A few headscarves in different colors even gave me a small daily pleasure of picking one to match my mood.
What surprised me was that the thing needing the most care was not the hair but the scalp. With bare skin exposed, it felt cold in winter and burned easily in the summer sun. I cleansed it gently with a mild wash, and when it felt dry I applied a thin layer of lightly scented moisturizer. Going out, I either put sunscreen on my scalp or wore a hat. I switched to soft, cotton-like pillowcases and washed them often, and the itching and prickling eased.
I learned later that even while wearing a wig or headscarf, the scalp needs to breathe. At home I took it off as much as possible and let the air reach my head, wiping away sweat whenever it built up. I had not expected to lose my eyebrows and eyelashes too, but I got through that with light makeup, eyebrow tattooing, and glasses to cover it. Instead of straining to hide everything perfectly, I found peace in simply accepting that this was just a season I was passing through.
Thankfully, a few weeks after treatment ended, soft downy hair like a newborn's began to come up. At first it was curly and a slightly different color, but over time it gradually found its old self again. I remember stroking that short hair and feeling relieved, thinking, "Ah, it is coming to an end." Losing your hair is certainly a sorrowful thing, but just holding onto the fact that it is a process with an end made getting through that period much easier.
This article shares one person's experience and does not apply the same way to everyone. For specific methods of managing hair loss or scalp problems, please consult your own care team.