Ode to the follicles
Up until the end of the 3rd week few people would have known I was undergoing a 6 week course of radiotherapy; even I had been lulled into a false sense of security! The Saturday of the 3rd week of radiotherapy felt like a normal morning. I did normal things: lazy getting up, slippers and dressing gown and plodding downstairs for my breakfast. Normal morning, right? But in one casual brush of my head a normal morning shattered.
For many people upon running their fingers through their hair some may come loose, this is normal. However, I had shaved my head to a fine covering of hair the previous weekend so, I didn't have any trapped loose hairs... I'd done this just in case my hair did fall out due to the therapy, also to continue to fit into my radio mask as I'd had very short hair when it was fitted between surgery and radiotherapy, it had felt liberating, a statement! "I've had brain surgery, look at my scar! I am powerful... and I am cool?" As a result of this close cut with nowhere for those loose hairs to hide, there was no reason that anything would happen on brushing my hand over my head.
I'd been informed of the possible risks and side effects of radiotherapy: local changes (redness/soreness of the skin, hair loss) and systematic (tiredness and nausea). For conclusive lists medical professionals should be consulted, I didn't commit the whole list to memory... After completing 3 full weeks and not experiencing any side effects, (maybe some tiredness?) I thought I could continue to dodge the side effect but chance and probability caught up with me.
I didn't think... no, I didn't know how it would happen. I didn't believe the clumps of hair coming out in your hand and I am SO glad I shaved my head in mild preparation as a "just in case" because I would have found that even more traumatising! Tiny short hairs fell onto the table as I brushed my hand over my head and I stopped. I just stopped. I was sat between my parents who were having a conversation across the corner of the table where we were sat. I felt everything and nothing as I looked at the hairs. I did it again, and again, I looked at my hand seeing tiny hairs on it too. There was no denying it. With my head bowed in a state of shock silent tears dripped onto our wipe-clean tablecloth. Once my younger brothers left the room I raised my head and stated to my parents, "my hair's started falling out." I write this over 6 months after this moment and I can feel it vividly, I think about it sometimes when I sit in that particular part of the table...
I never cared much for hair, other people seemed more interested in my own hair than I was... The children in assembly who sat behind and beside me couldn't control their curious hands as they reached for my frizzy braids, pulled lightly and enjoyed how they bounced back upon release. When I wore my hair out in its afro-y glory people were so excited and loved it! For me my hair was a nightmare. I'd have to book an evening out every couple of weeks or so [afro natural hair doesn't require washing frequently] to tease it out, comb it, wash it and restyle it. It hurt and it was inconvenient! It was lovely quality time with my mum though; I enjoyed that aspect.
As I grew up I decided I wanted to have shorter hair and it took me until approaching the end of secondary school to cut my long hair to shoulder length and wear it in twists. This cut the time and effort needed to maintain presentable hair which was fantastic, yet I still had to rely on someone else so when I went to uni I asked my sister to cut it short I now had complete ownership of my hair and could comb and wash it within 5 minutes; perfect!
As I said, I didn't care for hair so when I decided to have the first brain surgery to "de-bulk" the tumour I didn't think I'd be phased by cutting my hair short enough to allow hairless access to my scalp, but it caught me off guard and I got utterly upset. At that point it became very real that I would be having surgery. Surgery take 2, 9 months later, was easier because I knew what to expect and I had been wearing super short hair and was feeling really confident. Also, there was ZERO hair maintenance needed; it was a dream come true! I'd even started going to the barber's! But losing your hair is very, very different.
I would stand in the shower for a long time rinsing my head and watching as little hairs washed off saturating the water in the tray. I would rub my head because I was angry at it, I agitated it to make it happen quicker. If I was going to suffer the speed was on my terms! The brush at the breakfast table was nothing in comparison to these sweeps over my head. My hand was left with a covering of fine black hair and you could repeat and repeat and get the same handful! As I stood my tears would join the stream. Because the blades of hair were short, they were sharp and acted like splinters on my skin. The "post barber's" shards sticking to my body, itchy and uncomfortable; lodging in my towel making it like sandpaper.
I didn't think I would wear headscarves but I did and I felt weak as a result, "it's just hair!" I couldn't face it... I was ashamed, I didn't want people to see, I didn't want them to feel uncomfortable or ask me if I was okay. I lost confidence, I lost faith, I didn't believe my hair would ever grow back. The thing I detested most was the fact it was an awful asymmetrical pattern with islands of unaffected hair surrounded by a moat of baldness then a tuft on the other side of said moat! I lost about 2/3 of my hair which I wasn't expecting but because the radio-waves go in at different angles it affected a lot of my head. I felt ugly, I hated myself, I resented the decision I had made to undergo radiotherapy, "How could you have been so stupid!?" I thought, "you brought this on yourself..."
I feared being caught off guard and it happened a couple of times. I felt sick when it did, so self conscious. I felt vulnerable. I believed I was failing at headscarves, thought I looked clumsy. I was checking myself in mirrors; I didn't feel like me. I didn't think I'd be so affected by it but it was uncontrollable. It took me until just before Christmas to work up the courage to see whether my hair would grow back. I was working in an office reception where people would see me as the first face of the place I worked and I was constantly worried people would notice or comment. I was preparing for the worst and was expecting no hair regrowth... it was slow but as it grew back; so did my confidence. For the first time in my life I was excited to have and grow hair!
No one will notice the finer thinner hair on parts of my head as much as I will but it's a reminder, like feeling my scar beneath my hair or seeing the tiny scars from the cannulas in hand and wrist. A reminder that life kicked me in the shins but I picked myself dusted myself off and found out a lot about myself and my limits in the process. These things I carry...
Naomi
 |
| "I never cared much for hair" |
For many people upon running their fingers through their hair some may come loose, this is normal. However, I had shaved my head to a fine covering of hair the previous weekend so, I didn't have any trapped loose hairs... I'd done this just in case my hair did fall out due to the therapy, also to continue to fit into my radio mask as I'd had very short hair when it was fitted between surgery and radiotherapy, it had felt liberating, a statement! "I've had brain surgery, look at my scar! I am powerful... and I am cool?" As a result of this close cut with nowhere for those loose hairs to hide, there was no reason that anything would happen on brushing my hand over my head.
I'd been informed of the possible risks and side effects of radiotherapy: local changes (redness/soreness of the skin, hair loss) and systematic (tiredness and nausea). For conclusive lists medical professionals should be consulted, I didn't commit the whole list to memory... After completing 3 full weeks and not experiencing any side effects, (maybe some tiredness?) I thought I could continue to dodge the side effect but chance and probability caught up with me.
I didn't think... no, I didn't know how it would happen. I didn't believe the clumps of hair coming out in your hand and I am SO glad I shaved my head in mild preparation as a "just in case" because I would have found that even more traumatising! Tiny short hairs fell onto the table as I brushed my hand over my head and I stopped. I just stopped. I was sat between my parents who were having a conversation across the corner of the table where we were sat. I felt everything and nothing as I looked at the hairs. I did it again, and again, I looked at my hand seeing tiny hairs on it too. There was no denying it. With my head bowed in a state of shock silent tears dripped onto our wipe-clean tablecloth. Once my younger brothers left the room I raised my head and stated to my parents, "my hair's started falling out." I write this over 6 months after this moment and I can feel it vividly, I think about it sometimes when I sit in that particular part of the table...
 |
| "The children in assembly who sat behind and beside me couldn't control their curious hands" |
I never cared much for hair, other people seemed more interested in my own hair than I was... The children in assembly who sat behind and beside me couldn't control their curious hands as they reached for my frizzy braids, pulled lightly and enjoyed how they bounced back upon release. When I wore my hair out in its afro-y glory people were so excited and loved it! For me my hair was a nightmare. I'd have to book an evening out every couple of weeks or so [afro natural hair doesn't require washing frequently] to tease it out, comb it, wash it and restyle it. It hurt and it was inconvenient! It was lovely quality time with my mum though; I enjoyed that aspect.
As I grew up I decided I wanted to have shorter hair and it took me until approaching the end of secondary school to cut my long hair to shoulder length and wear it in twists. This cut the time and effort needed to maintain presentable hair which was fantastic, yet I still had to rely on someone else so when I went to uni I asked my sister to cut it short I now had complete ownership of my hair and could comb and wash it within 5 minutes; perfect!
 |
| "I'd even started going to the barber's!" |
As I said, I didn't care for hair so when I decided to have the first brain surgery to "de-bulk" the tumour I didn't think I'd be phased by cutting my hair short enough to allow hairless access to my scalp, but it caught me off guard and I got utterly upset. At that point it became very real that I would be having surgery. Surgery take 2, 9 months later, was easier because I knew what to expect and I had been wearing super short hair and was feeling really confident. Also, there was ZERO hair maintenance needed; it was a dream come true! I'd even started going to the barber's! But losing your hair is very, very different.
I would stand in the shower for a long time rinsing my head and watching as little hairs washed off saturating the water in the tray. I would rub my head because I was angry at it, I agitated it to make it happen quicker. If I was going to suffer the speed was on my terms! The brush at the breakfast table was nothing in comparison to these sweeps over my head. My hand was left with a covering of fine black hair and you could repeat and repeat and get the same handful! As I stood my tears would join the stream. Because the blades of hair were short, they were sharp and acted like splinters on my skin. The "post barber's" shards sticking to my body, itchy and uncomfortable; lodging in my towel making it like sandpaper.
 |
| "My hand was left with a covering of fine black hair" |
I didn't think I would wear headscarves but I did and I felt weak as a result, "it's just hair!" I couldn't face it... I was ashamed, I didn't want people to see, I didn't want them to feel uncomfortable or ask me if I was okay. I lost confidence, I lost faith, I didn't believe my hair would ever grow back. The thing I detested most was the fact it was an awful asymmetrical pattern with islands of unaffected hair surrounded by a moat of baldness then a tuft on the other side of said moat! I lost about 2/3 of my hair which I wasn't expecting but because the radio-waves go in at different angles it affected a lot of my head. I felt ugly, I hated myself, I resented the decision I had made to undergo radiotherapy, "How could you have been so stupid!?" I thought, "you brought this on yourself..."
I feared being caught off guard and it happened a couple of times. I felt sick when it did, so self conscious. I felt vulnerable. I believed I was failing at headscarves, thought I looked clumsy. I was checking myself in mirrors; I didn't feel like me. I didn't think I'd be so affected by it but it was uncontrollable. It took me until just before Christmas to work up the courage to see whether my hair would grow back. I was working in an office reception where people would see me as the first face of the place I worked and I was constantly worried people would notice or comment. I was preparing for the worst and was expecting no hair regrowth... it was slow but as it grew back; so did my confidence. For the first time in my life I was excited to have and grow hair!
No one will notice the finer thinner hair on parts of my head as much as I will but it's a reminder, like feeling my scar beneath my hair or seeing the tiny scars from the cannulas in hand and wrist. A reminder that life kicked me in the shins but I picked myself dusted myself off and found out a lot about myself and my limits in the process. These things I carry...
Naomi
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