The Wig and I

I had a love/hate relationship with my wig. I was unsure about whether I really wanted a wig in the first place, but decided it would be smart to have one so I had options for covering my baldy noggin. When I put it on for the first time, I didn’t feel like myself. It made me self-conscious, like it was screaming “I have fake hair! I have fake hair!” The part was on the wrong side from how I used to style my hair (I guess I was supposed to be able to switch the part to the other side, but I could never get it to work). The color was great, and the cut was fine, but I was not used to having bangs, and although they were minimal, they took some getting used to. Remember, I was plain-jane hairstyle girl, and it was all an adjustment for me. I got plenty of compliments on the wig, and few people could tell it wasn’t my real hair. That was a good thing. But it was still so strange to have this head of hair that was not my own.

Once I got used to it, however, I began to wear it all the time. There were many reasons for this. When my hot flashes started, I noticed that my wig allowed my head to breathe when I was sweating up a storm, while hats seemed to trap all the heat in, making me feel even hotter. While in public, a wig came in handy – the hot flash could come and go, and it wasn’t noticeable to anyone but me. But if I wore a hat, I would start to sweat and it would often drip down my neck or face. Lovely image right? Menopause is so hot.

My kids were another big reason I wore my wig so much. They seemed fine with my baldy head around the house – they would stare a bit sometimes, and often say “Mom. You’re bald.” “Yes, I know” was always my answer. But it was very important to them that I blend in when we were out in public. They wanted normal as much as I did. If I was getting ready for the day, they would ask “You’re going to wear your wig, right?” If I was coming in to their school for anything , they would always request that I wear my wig and not a just a hat. Having hair meant that I wouldn’t stand out. I don’t think they were ashamed I had cancer, but it was embarrassing for them to have people see their mom as bald. They were kids, after all.

When the wig needed to be washed, I would let it soak in the sink in the kids' bathroom, and then leave it out to dry on the counter. It looked kind of scary sitting there, like a furry dead thing all knotted up. If I forgot to pick it up, I would get some pretty funny reactions from my family. My favorite was throwing it at Ryan when he came to see me in my room. He would scream and run away - it always made me laugh. Michael named the wig "The Ferret" and I think we got every person in the house to try it on at some point during my treatment. Photographic evidence would be nice, but I never seemed to have a camera handy for those moments.

I don’t know if I ever got used to the fact that I didn’t have hair. I was completely bald for almost 8 months, and I still washed my head with shampoo in the shower every day even though there wasn’t any hair to wash. Looking in the mirror each morning was an obvious reminder, but I don’t know that it ever really sunk in. It was surreal, and I don’t know that I will ever be able to explain it. It is funny how something as simple as hair can mean so much to a person battling this disease.

In the end, my wig made me feel less sick, less obvious in a crowd. At home, I was all about the hats. But in public, I had to answer less questions and got less stares as I went about my business. I didn’t love it, but I was willing to wear it to help me feel like the person I was before I had cancer.



Photographs by Katie Ash Photography