I used to joke that my hair was my pet. That's because I had so much, that the amount of time I spent tending to it was easily on a par with what one might spend washing and brushing a small-to-medium sized dog or grooming a medium-to-long haired cat. About 95% of that hair is gone now, and I haven't come up with a new joke to address its absence. The closest I've come is referencing the "rat tail" dangling from the various caps I now wear.
Before my hair fell out, I had so much that wearing hats was actually a challenge. It looked odd if I let it fan out from underneath the hat, and stuffing it all in wasn't even an option. Nevertheless, I owned a few hats that I very occasionally wore, regardless of how silly I looked, and before my hair loss passed the halfway point, I got to enjoy what it felt like to be a typical hat-wearer. That was a brief upside, and I acknowledged it.
Eventually in this process, though, one starts contemplating "chemo caps." It's still chilly in Portland, and I'm amazed by how quickly I grow truly cold when I don't have something covering my head. My pre-chemo hats aren't practical for everyday wear, so I was happy to find a cap I liked in the selection of free ones available on the Oncology floor at the OHSU Center for Health and Healing. Most of those caps are too flashy for me, or they're the wrong size, but I snagged a simple, dark red one that's just right. I'm sincerely moved when I imagine the generous person who made this cap. Was he or she also a cancer patient? I'll never know. I do know that I'm grateful for the effort, though.
I ordered a couple of beanies from Nordstrom, too. They're made of a cotton and nylon blend, and I'm not crazy about them, but I need more than one cap to get me through. I thought I might find some good ones on Etsy, but when I looked, I was overwhelmed by all the options and the ads that clutter up that previously user-friendly site. I just didn't have the energy to comparison shop, so I went the tried-and-true route of Nordy's. The beanies from there are stylish, of course, but I prefer the cap that was made just for me by someone who doesn't even know me. These days, small-to-medium acts of kindness mean a lot.
Before my hair fell out, I had so much that wearing hats was actually a challenge. It looked odd if I let it fan out from underneath the hat, and stuffing it all in wasn't even an option. Nevertheless, I owned a few hats that I very occasionally wore, regardless of how silly I looked, and before my hair loss passed the halfway point, I got to enjoy what it felt like to be a typical hat-wearer. That was a brief upside, and I acknowledged it.
Eventually in this process, though, one starts contemplating "chemo caps." It's still chilly in Portland, and I'm amazed by how quickly I grow truly cold when I don't have something covering my head. My pre-chemo hats aren't practical for everyday wear, so I was happy to find a cap I liked in the selection of free ones available on the Oncology floor at the OHSU Center for Health and Healing. Most of those caps are too flashy for me, or they're the wrong size, but I snagged a simple, dark red one that's just right. I'm sincerely moved when I imagine the generous person who made this cap. Was he or she also a cancer patient? I'll never know. I do know that I'm grateful for the effort, though.
I ordered a couple of beanies from Nordstrom, too. They're made of a cotton and nylon blend, and I'm not crazy about them, but I need more than one cap to get me through. I thought I might find some good ones on Etsy, but when I looked, I was overwhelmed by all the options and the ads that clutter up that previously user-friendly site. I just didn't have the energy to comparison shop, so I went the tried-and-true route of Nordy's. The beanies from there are stylish, of course, but I prefer the cap that was made just for me by someone who doesn't even know me. These days, small-to-medium acts of kindness mean a lot.