From Hair to Eternity

By kerri | Published: April 27, 2010

Marcia, Marcia, Marcia.

Hair has always been a non-factor for me. Mine was pretty much just “there” all my life. Dishwatery brown; not Marcia-Brady-long-and-straight like I always wanted. Not curly cool… Just sort of in-between.

Aside from a bad bang run-in with the scissors when I was seven, the only big hair drama for me was when I moved to San Francisco after college. Wanting change and a new look at life, I chopped it super short and dyed it platinum blonde. My identical twin Kelli went into shock and my dad assured me that it was okay with him if I was gay.

When I went to China I bumped into all kinds of challenges, from hellish humidity to the woman who cut my bang cowlick off to the scalp because she didn’t know what to do with it (what?!). In desperation, I tried an over-priced but under-talented Hong Kong stylist who told me that my head was shaped too weird to cut properly and finally landed with a French salon that could at least make me presentable while overseas.

Last fall I returned home with great relief to my girl Patti, the coolest and most talented hair stylist on the planet (of local salon Green). And, about 2 years after the rest of America, I also found a way to make it behave with the omnipotent flat iron.

But still. Hair. Not a thang for me.

When I started to lose my locks with the chemo, I was stunned to realize how much it bothered me. It truly has been one of the hardest parts of this journey, which as I understand for most women, is a very common response.

The first major trauma was wig shopping. It was early days in the first round of chemo and I still had my nondescript but all-there hair. (It typically falls out 2-3 weeks after initial treatment) After getting my prescription for my “prosthetic hair device,” I marched into a local wig shop that specializes in women who lose their hair for medical reasons. Because I was dreading it so much I decided to make an event of it. I pulled Hadley and Emma out of school and the three of us were joined by twin sis Kel to make the most of it together. It’ll be fun, I told myself.

Yeah right.

Meet the Stepford Wife me. (aka "Coty")

I walked in and was a total goner. I pretty much entered into an out-of-body state so I could avoid falling to pieces in front of the girls. This wasn’t me, how could it be? Lining the walls were wigs of all shapes and colors, but all I could see was Loni Anderson from WKRP in Cincinnati staring at me, with Dolly Parton to her right. I soldiered on and we tried on all kinds of synthetic options, from the shaggy, supposedly sexy “Cameron” to the “Coty,” which was like a Stepford Wife version of my own hair. Weeeeiiirrd.

This is the "CEO." Complete with Hadley's little "smile" doll she's let me borrow.

I walked out of the door with a natural hair wig on order that matched my hair color and cost me $1,000 bucks (non-reimbursable by insurance despite my prescription.) It would take a week to get it in, which was just barely enough time for me to have it before my hair was gone. This wig was called the “CEO,” no lie. The girls took me to Kenny and Zukes to cheer me up and I all but cried in my matzo ball soup.

I moped around for a while and then came to realize that this was what made all this cancer stuff suddenly real. And that’s why it was so unnerving. Yes, I felt crap with the chemo but my persona, the thing that made me Kerri, was all going to end up on my pillow and on the shower floor in a matter of days. And that was harder.

So, I took matters in hand and called for reinforcements. I dialed Patti (my rockstar stylist) and we booked her salon for an evening the following week. I invited my close Sellwood girlfriends and we made a party of it, complete with brow waxes and make-up touch ups for all of them and a few bottles of wine and good cheese to round out the night.

My Sellwood girl posse.

The wonderful Patti and Heather and the scared me.

Short 'do. Something to look forward to!

My plan was for Patti to buzz me down to a longish “four” and be done with it. She wanted none of that — thank you very much. First she ordered me over to get a full face of soft but pretty make up from Nicole, her lovely accomplice. Once she had me in the cape she told me that she wasn’t into the notion of attacking me with a noisy, masculine set of clippers. She gave me a real girl haircut, that was as short as I’d had it way back in San Francisco, but more girly and spunky.

And then she took the time to style my wig too. We cut so much off that we decided to rename her from the “CEO” to the “KHP.” Yeah!

Styling me. But really a wig. Funny.

For the next three days while I rocked my short ‘do I actually looked and felt cute. Patti was brilliant. I had enough of my confidence and resolve back to actually face the strange experience of huge amounts of my hair coming out everywhere. For days, I could just pull and I’d have a fistful of hair. The drain in my shower every morning told the story. And to top it off, my scalp was red and really painful. No fun, but I was actually laughing through it all.

Patti is one of my angels.

And then suddenly it stopped.

What was left looked like a strange comb-over, all-over. And in an interesting experiment, the front section that had been died a lighter shade of blonde stuck with me in bigger numbers. Suddenly I looked bizarre and really sick. “Cancery.”

While I was covering up my dome with hats, scarves and the KHP (aka The Wig), I wanted to be able to come to breakfast without the hassle of that, but avoid scaring the girls. Not to mention freaking out Dan in bed in the morning. So Kelli came through and buzzed me after all. Although I was having scary images of the Brittany head shave incident running through my mind, my new baldish head was much nicer. “More Sinead and less baby-orangatun” was the consensus.

Cute on an orangutan. not on me.

Today, I’m kinda falling for my new bald self. The Hong Kong stylist was wrong. My head is actually a nice shape. And my friends tell me my eyes, ears and cheekbones are pretty good too. I’m hoping to have my hair back by Christmas and they say it can grow back totally different. I’ll be more than ready by then.

Oh sinead.

But for now, don’t be surprised if I save the 1K wig for school events and start weeding the yard and coming to work bald and beautiful.

And most of all, me.

From Hair to Eternity

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