The Day I Let My Hair Go

Talking to My Grandkids, Losing My Hair, and Finding Strength

Telling my grandchildren I had cancer was one of the hardest parts of my diagnosis. I didn't want them to worry—especially my 22-year-old granddaughter, who's autistic and very sensitive to change. My other grandkids were nine and five at the time, and I wasn't sure how much to say or when to say it. But when my hair started falling out in clumps, just three weeks after chemo started, I knew I couldn't hide it any longer. The experience of hair loss forced me to confront the truth—not just with myself, but with the people who love me.

Telling the Grandkids

I decided to tell the two older grandchildren gently and early. (With the youngest, just five, I held off a bit longer until she could understand more.) I explained that Grandma was going through something tough, but things looked good and I'd still be around. That reassurance was essential. They were worried, of course, but they asked thoughtful questions and gave me the chance to answer in a way that made us all feel more grounded.

The Hair Letting Go Moment

Three weeks after my first chemo, I started pulling out hair by the handful. So I shaved it off. I didn't want to dread every clump on my pillow or in the shower drain.

There's strength in taking control.

I had dyed my hair since my late twenties to cover early gray, and I’d grown so tired of doing it. So after chemo, when my hair started to grow back, I let it come in white. And I've kept it that way ever since.

Hair Comes Back...Different

Hair regrowth after chemo is like a surprise package. One of my friends had straight, gray hair before her chemo. When it grew back, it was light brown and curly. You never know what you're going to get—but sometimes that surprise is beautiful.

Wigs, Bonnets, Scarves—and Uncle Fester

I didn't like the feel of wigs. They were hot, itchy, and expensive—especially human hair wigs, which can cost $3,000 or more and aren't always covered by insurance.

Instead, I wore soft scarves, beanies, and cotton caps. They were comfortable and easier to deal with.

One day, my autistic granddaughter saw a photo of Uncle Fester from the Addams Family. She pointed at me, laughed, and said, “You look just like him!” And we both cracked up. That moment of humor helped break the tension and made the changes feel a little less scary.

Friends, Wigs, and Levity

Another friend with lung cancer wore a different wig every week—blond one week, brunette the next. Her husband joked, “It's like I get a new wife every week!” That humor carried them both through a very difficult time. Sadly, she passed away, and he followed not long after from a different cancer. But I still remember how her wigs became part of their shared laughter.

Products That Help and Lighten the Mood

Keeping my hair short has helped, too. I keep it a little longer on top, shorter on the sides and back, so it doesn't stick up in wild directions.

One day, a colleague gave me some temporary lavender and pink hair dye. Her kids had given it to her when she let her hair go white. I tried the pink one day, just for fun, as my hair was growing in. I walked into a football sporting goods store, and the man behind the counter stopped mid-sentence, looked at me, and asked, “Do you know you have pink hair?” I burst out laughing—it was the best response I could've hoped for.

Resources for Others

If you're looking for options:

• The American Cancer Society's TLC Program offers affordable wigs, scarves, and head coverings (www.tlcdirect.org)

• CancerCare provides free wigs to people undergoing treatment (www.cancercare.org)

• Look Good Feel Better offers appearance support and guidance (www.lookgoodfeelbetter.org)

Also, ask your doctor for a prescription for a “cranial prosthesis”—this is the medical term for a wig, and it may help you get insurance reimbursement.

Closing: Strength Over Shame

When a family member told me, “I could never go out in public looking like that,” I responded gently, “That's okay—you don't have to. But I do. And I will.”

I've never made my living or based my self-worth off my looks. Bald or white-haired, covered or not, I'm still me. If people don’t like it, screw ‘em.

We may not get to choose what cancer does to our hair, but we do get to choose how we respond with honesty, humor, and strength.