I’m so new to the world of wigs. Like so many things these days, I’ve entered a whole new vocabulary with a steep learning curve: World hair, European hair, lace front, double-layered caps. I still barely know what these terms mean nor how I’ll feel once the day finally comes when my hair starts to fall out.
I’ve heard from a lot of women who been through chemo who said that they dreaded losing their hair the most, but when the time came, they felt empowered when they shaved their heads and some even said that they never wore their wigs at all. I doubt I’ll go to that end of the spectrum, but who knows, right? Right now, I feel strongly that I’ll want to have a pretty good wig - if for no other reasons that to give myself options in the future.
The very first wig I tried on was synthetic hair, meaning plastic. They told me to be careful of any heat, including checking something in the oven in the kitchen. Good Lord. And the thing is, none of the “good ones” are very cheap - some of them are much less “not cheap” than others. But with this one, I looked in the mirror and wanted to cry. Because I felt cartoonish. Like I was trying to pull one over on the world. And not in a good way.
Since that initial experience, I’ve had the amazing privilege to consider a few other really amazing options for wigs. There’s a man here in town who can actually make a wig out of your own hair. I spent over an hour with him, talking about how it might look similar or different from how my hair looks now. I appreciated so much the gentle yet honest nature of our conversation. Regardless of whether we stay in contact ever again, I feel like the universe keeps sending me people and conversations that are exactly what I need right in that moment. This was definitely one of those.
And though I thought that it was a really incredible option to consider, there has been something that has made me hesitate. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it until a few days ago.
I realized that for me, doing a wig with my own hair feels too much like I’m trying to hang on to something I can’t. This realization is a huge surprise to me. I actually really like my hair. And maybe it’s just the limited time we have left together, but I feel like I’m having more good hair days than normal right now. Figures.
I had the port placed (installed? surgically inserted? I don’t know the proper term). Anyway, it was a lot more involved than I expected. And I’m happy to say that it’s a lot less noticeable than I thought it might be (I really was concerned about looking like the bionic woman with a twist-off cap sticking out of my chest), it is the first really physical sign I have of what is to come. This has been one of the strangest parts so far: we are doing all of this disaster planning that feels like so much doom-and-gloom and yet, I feel totally fine right now. I don’t feel sick. I don’t look sick at all. What a strange, strange time.
But I really think that’s it. I am starting to feel physical signs of what my heart and mind already know are coming: this experience is going to change me. And I’m trying to remain open to all of what that brings. This is SO damned hard. I keep having very deliberate conversations with myself: I didn’t ask for any of this, but my intention is to remain open to what is to come, and to let go of what I know I cannot take with me.
I am not my hair. I am not even my body.
But friends, this is really fucking hard sometimes.