Josie vs Cancer: I thought I was ready for hair loss—I wasn’t!

Josie Wednesday 7 May 2025 Health, Wellness 1 Comment

Chapter 5: I cried for two days…

By the second chemotherapy session, I had a routine. I’d wash my hair the night before in order to stretch the period of low manipulation for as long as possible.

Nothing special to report on this occasion. Normal shedding and all was well… or so I thought.

Women share breast cancer awareness ribbons.
Photo: Getty Images.

I felt tired after the second session, and I tried to focus on the fact that this was a reduced dose, so the nausea and other negative side effects should be reduced also.

I allowed myself to focus on the not-so-bad-this-time experience. On the second- and third-night post-treatment, I remember feeling an odd sensation—like my hair was caught in something… like it was being pulled.

I willed myself to ignore this, partially because I had been told that such a sensation could be the start of hair fall and I was not prepared to deal with that just yet; or at all perhaps.

Hair loss is a side effect of chemotherapy.

On the fourth day post-treatment, I figured I should smooth my hair back as the nurse recommended. Not comb, not brush—smooth it back.

I used my hands. I spritzed my hair with water first, but I used my hands to smooth it back. I remember looking at my hair-covered palms after doing that and… I froze.😟

My hair had started falling. I was not prepared for this. I mean, to an extent I was—I had ordered a wig. I had ordered a cold cap. I was prepared but I was not prepared.

Mentally? No. Physically? No. Emotionally? No.

As if he somehow sensed my mental state from at work, my husband called. I told him and I cried. He said he was sorry and asked if I wanted him to come home. Bless his heart and bless his soul. He had already taken so much time off. I told him I’d be fine.

Truth is I was in shock and was barely processing the fact that I was about to lose my hair and actually have to take the wig I had ordered out of the box. I had no idea what to do.

How do you even wear a wig? Is there a science or technique? I’d have to engage some professionals because I did not have a clue—professionals and, well, Google and YouTube.

A woman with breast cancer, who lost her hair due to chemotherapy, tries her first wig.
Photo: iStockphoto.

That was Tuesday. By Wednesday I was still crying! YES.

It’s funny how you don’t realise that something plays such an important role in your identity, until that something is taken away.

It may seem trivial; because there are people who have been faced with months to live after diagnosis and they power through. Why was I crying over hair? It will grow back.

At least two persons close to me said those words to me when I expressed anxiety over the possibility, even before the reality of the recent hours. I remember thinking: yes, it will grow back but it will also fall off—all the way off.

Allow me to mourn, to worry, to fear.

I know their approach was to reduce my worry and I appreciated that, but not in that moment.

By Wednesday night, I had come to the realisation that on Friday I would need a plan to be able to leave the house as I had a doctor’s appointment. I washed what was left of my hair, as we decided that this approach would allow us to determine the extent of the hair fall situation.

My entire hairline was gone and clumps in between. It was uneven and could not be masked with any combover style.

I cried and cried and cried…

My husband, bless his heart and soul, spread a towel and we cut it—cut it all off. He gathered up what was left of my femininity lying on the floor and placed it into a bag, which we saved. Not sure why and for what purpose but it felt appropriate to keep it.

Temporary insanity? Maybe…

Losing your hair gradually over years is one thing. It gives you time to adjust as you go. But this? This was different. This was a violent shock. A shock all at once and a drastic shift from one point to another.

TV and social media is a dream. You often see friends and family members gathered together and shaving their heads in solidarity: we-are-in-this-together type of thing. No such reality on this side.

My husband already has a low haircut, so he needed no change to his routine. Plus, his support was a ton more than anyone could ask for. My friends empathised with me and offered support and so did my family, but there was no tv group-shaving event. They all held on to their heads of hair.

Everything is easier with emotional support.

And yes, while the support in the re-growth journey would have been nice, I had to let people support me in the way they chose to. And I had to accept that the support I was getting was a lot and not many people could say the same thing.

I mean, in reality, I knew how devastating my hair loss was to me. Was it feasible or realistic to expect someone to willingly go through that? No.

Now the wig was another story.😂

Had to get a tutorial (multiple actually) on what to do and how to do it. Had to watch a couple YouTube videos as well because I am somewhat of a visual learner. Added to the fact that I have never worn my hair any other way but natural—no braid, weaves or wigs; ever.

A chemotherapy patient tries to get the hang of a wig.

My sister-in-law gave me a tutorial as well and that helped. Getting it right on my own, was another hurdle; but if I am being honest, in the days immediately after I was numb.

I could not care less about how I looked as it was already a WTF situation that I did not have the energy to fix. I ordered a second wig as I found the first to not fit comfortably.

I picked it up, washed it and tried styling it. Watched some more videos and I had some success—at least enough success where I felt okay to leave the house.

It took me days and days before I could look at myself in the mirror. Look at myself without a scarf on my head. It was a constant reminder of my reality. As if my surgical scars were not enough of a reminder.

I mean it is one thing to feel sick and lie your way through a response to the question: “How are you feeling/ doing?” But it is an entirely other thing to look sick and have no one need to ask the question.

I hid my hair loss under a scarf at home so my daughter would not see. She noticed the wig and said so but never asked me why? She perhaps had questions, and her little mind couldn’t process them.

Or perhaps she summed it up to mom being unwell (which she knew) and let her 10-year-old mind be okay with that.

At monthly intervals, I found the courage to photograph my head and the regrowth. It took time and I had to fight the feelings of sadness and impatience.