Breast cancer lesson number 77: What happened when the wig went to town (with me in tow)

Today, I introduced Suzie to the world (for anyone not familiar with my furry wiggy friend, you can find out all about her in lesson number 57).

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Suzie did well. I am not sure we will make the best of friends (although I am trying) and I doubt very much that she will be accompanying me on many adventures over the coming months, but for her ability to make me blend in and mask the fact I have toxic drugs flowing through my bloodstream, she does deserve a gold star (or maybe just a nice brush!).

It’s amazing what a bit of acrylic can do to make you feel quite self-conscious. Strangely, while you could argue she makes me look more ‘like myself’ than I have done in weeks, I have never felt less so. I guess ‘like myself’ is now what lies beneath, not the pixie cut I left behind on the salon floor a fortnight ago.

When I’m in my wig, I feel like I am pretending to be someone I’m not and I am afraid of being found out. This is not helped by the fact Suzie doesn’t actually move naturally and makes me look a bit like a Wallace and Gromit extra than a real well-coiffed person. I feel like the hair is an act, when the hats and the baldness are now part of who I am. Suzie is also like a hot hairy shower cap (although I am told she’s pretty convincing) and, quite frankly, who wants to walk about town in one of those?!

To try and get used to Suzie, I tested her out on the nurses at the cancer day unit first thing (I had planned to put back-up hats in my bag, but left them on the sofa, so it was hair or no hair). It felt like a safe environment given 80% of the hair in there is probably acrylic. The nurse flushing my PICC line didn’t even blink, but I am not sure she recognised me, even though we laughed all the way through my blood test last week (when I was sporting a blue hat).

I am delighted to report I kept my hair on throughout the dressing change and the following journey into town (although at one point I had a burning desire to whip it off). I did nearly dislodge her once when taking off my scarf and I looked a bit like I’d been dragged through a hedge backwards by the time I got to my front door (thanks wind), but she did hold her own. And, for that, I will be forever grateful to the lovely Suzie.

Back home and back to bald and I couldn’t be happier (never thought I’d ever say that)! Even Duncan is starting to come round to the idea of me having less hair than him. They say blondes have more fun. I am starting to disagree.

While writing this post, I typed ‘bald quotes’ into Google (as you do!) and just have to share the quote that popped up when I did: ‘experience is the comb we receive after we’ve lost our hair’. I say bring on the comb, because my hair’s coming back…

5 comments

  1. This is an excellent post. It is interesting how you feel more like yourself bald. It makes sense. I was lucky that I didn’t lose my hair during treatment. I can’t imagine what you are going through, but I’m glad the hair is coming back!

    1. Thanks for connecting Beth. Lovely to meet you virtually! Being bald has really inspired me in lots of ways. I feel empowered (not to mention getting dressed is so much easier). I loved your post on chemo brain. Certainly trying to keep my mind active at the moment, and lists help! Hope all well with you. Thanks, J x

  2. Kudos to you for making it through the day with your wig. It looks quite natural in the photograph, though I know it wouldn’t feel at all the same. When I had my wig it was a terrible fit . . . I never wore it out. Bald isn’t so bad either, through, eh? 🙂 Although the very, very best is our own hair. I hope it grows back soon!

    1. Thanks for taking the time to post Catherine. Lovely to hear from you. I do much prefer my bald head and my hats to be honest. There’s just something about a wig that doesn’t feel quite right. Will certainly love my hair when it comes back (whatever colour)! Hope you are well.

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