Calling in Bald
Every week at chemo I’ve asked the nurses the same question: What percentage of people lose their hair? Every week I’ve gotten a similar answer. Some version of, Hmmm…I don’t think I’ve seen anyone keep their hair with this chemo regimen. Five weeks. Five different nurses. Still, I held out hope. Part of me thought maybe, just maaaayyyybe, I’d be spared.
Then it happened.
Saturday afternoon I took a trip to the pool to swim some laps. It was a gorgeous day, and I was blissed out feeling great about my strength and mobility returning. But my blissful state ended rather abruptly after shampooing my hair in the gym shower & opening my eyes to see a clump of hair in the palm of my hand. I’m not sure anything can prepare you for that. I was so caught off guard I let out a little scream.
As I dried off and got dressed, I was terrified to even touch my own head, worried that I’d unintentionally pull out more hair and expose part of my scalp. I was so freaked out I felt physically sick. That’s the moment I decided it was time to cut it all off.
I made it (almost) to the car before bursting into tears. I called Brad sobbing, asking him to open a bottle of wine and find the clippers. Within 20 minutes I’d rallied Kim & Adi to help too. Adi and I have been plotting for weeks about how we could make this sucky event fun rather than miserable. I’d say we pulled that off. We decided she’d be my stylist and we would experiment with different hairstyles on the way to bald. Experiment we did! Kim, Adi, and I took turns with the scissors. Bob, Ruby, Brad, and Ben acted intermittently as film crew and audience. I like to turn things into a party whenever possible, so why should this be any different?
Once I got it as short as possible with scissors, Brad suggested I get used to it at that length and experience it like that before taking it all the way down to the studs. It seemed like a reasonable plan, so I followed it. Then he accessorized me (with a scarf and funky glasses) to look like a NYC socialite and we proceeded to get exceedingly drunk with Kim and Bob. By all accounts, it was a jarring yet fun evening.
Sunday morning, I woke up sad (and a wee bit hungover). I came to the conclusion — having completely lost my desire to drink alcohol for months now — that drinking wine actually made me feel worse than chemotherapy. What are the chances? I spent the first hour of my day texting & sharing photos with some of my best girlfriends (who always know exactly what to say, how to keep it real, and how to make me laugh), before asking Brad to grab the clippers and finish the job.
Since then, I’ve cried a lot of tears, but I’ve also felt liberated and relieved. Part of me wanted to hide in the house all day. But a bigger part of me wanted to enjoy the Seattle sunshine, rip the band-aid off, and go out into the world bald and proud. I had been living with fear & uncertainty about what it would be like. And it felt good to simply go out in public, wrapped in the security of my family, who loves me no matter what, face that fear, overcome it, and OWN my new look. Which is exactly what I did.
I’ve got to say, it’s very strange to feel the same on the inside but to look completely different on the outside. When Gilly first saw me without hair, she backed up slowly, but as soon as I squatted down and spoke to her in the same doggy-love voice she’s used to, she came over and licked my scalp about a hundred times. Adi said I looked like I’d escaped from prison. Ben could not stop touching it. First, he was stunned silent but then he reassured me, Mom, if anyone tells you your hair looks bad just have them touch it. What a love bug he is. And of course, Brad made up a jingle (She’s a bald bay-bey) before he even finished with the clippers and added “Q-tip” to his long list of endearing nicknames for me. I actually was a bald baby, until about age two, so the jingle feels like home.
At one point, I found myself running through the yard just to intensify the tingly sensation of cold air on my head. If you’ve never had a buzz cut, it feels a little bit like the tingling sensation of tiger balm or Bengay. I may have lost my boobs, but I found my scalp!
While Sunday felt alright — even a bit fun and playful — Monday morning was the WORST. I woke up with a pit of anxiety in my stomach and was crying within minutes. It was 7:30 am and I had to lead a Zoom meeting with a team of 13 leaders starting at 10 am. It was the first time I would don the wig. I was out of sorts, to say the least…wandering around the house crying and trying my best to pull myself together. Finally, I went out for a walk, thinking that might help. It felt a bit like the desperation I occasionally felt when the kids were babies — those moments when we had to experiment with various strategies until something worked to stop their tears.
When I walked in the door after my walk, Brad asked if I needed a hug. It was a kind offer, but I had to take a raincheck because one loving touch, and I knew I’d be back to a heaping pile of tears. Eventually, I felt calm enough to put on my makeup. Or so I thought. But the minute I began putting on mascara, it occurred to me that my eyelashes & eyebrows may soon fall out too. I pictured myself with a bald face and this put me over the edge yet again. There I was, 20 minutes before my call started, crying while putting on mascara. I don’t recommend this.
I took a few deep breaths, put on my fake head of hair, and logged into the meeting, despite wanting nothing more than to climb back into bed. Yesterday brought a new definition to the term “fake it till you make it.” I was not at my best, but I pulled it off. And pulling it off was good enough. Thank God I’m at a point in my career where I can essentially put myself on autopilot and get through just about anything.
When I shared this story later, in the ongoing text thread with my girl crew, my friend Amy quipped that putting mascara on while crying made about as much sense as eating Oreos while brushing your teeth. Robin chimed in and suggested that perhaps I should “call in bald” for a day or two.
And THIS is how I went from crying my head off one minute to laughing my ass off the next. My friends are professionals at lifting my spirits.
Bizzy got the last word when I shared a photo of myself looking calm, cool, and collected (and perhaps a bit glam) on my zoom call, despite feeling like a complete imposter…
“Goddamn it you look good in and out of that fucking wig!! Can ‘call in bald’ just be our euphemism for showing up as our authentic, real, grown-ass-women selves from here on out please?”
Why yes, it can!
Yesterday, I faked it.
Today, I called in bald.
I spent the day getting lots of hugs from Brad (without needing a raincheck), writing, walking, and prioritizing my emotional health.
I am beyond grateful that I am not alone in all of this. I’ve never felt more vulnerable or more supported. It brings me to tears (yet again) to realize just how lucky I am.
