Well, I blogged too soon! I had another story in the works for today’s post, but I had to go bragging that my hair was still holding strong. Sadly, on 5/5/26—ONE day after I posted my first blog about chemo—my hair said farewell.

According to my doctor and most posts I see in the various cancer groups I frequent, on average people tend to lose their hair between the second and third rounds. Mine lasted 13 days. I should have known that would be my luck—I deal with random hair loss from time to time from my autoimmune issues. But not like this.

I broke one of my rules about cancer: keep expectations low. I go over that more in the blog I was writing before this one, so you’ll understand what I mean once that one is published.

Anyways, my expectations—or maybe it was really more like my hopes—were set higher than I wanted, and they shattered just 13 days post–first treatment. Couldn’t even give me a solid two weeks. RUDE.

The Disappearing Hair Trick

I was doom-scrolling in bed. Don’t judge. And I did my daily little tug-a-roo on my hair just to make sure it was still holding on strong. Every other time—even last night—nothing. Not one strand would come loose.

The first chunk was just a few strands, like it could be normal loose hairs that we lose throughout the day like normal people. But I did another tug just to make sure. More hair. Again, and again.

I texted Brandht that I thought my hair was falling out. He came out, gave me a hug, filmed me shave my own head, and then helped me shave the rest of my hair before it was able to leave on its own.

Brandht followed suit. The next day, a good friend of mine also shaved her head. Solidarity, sister!

It was already planned to shave before it fell out on its own. I planned to do that the day after my second treatment. The nurses were looking forward to seeing my mohawk at the next visit!

I loved that mohawk too. I wish I got to keep it a little longer. It was the easiest hairstyle I ever had! I do not know how or what made that bit of hair stand tall without product, but I rocked that bedhead for 8.5 days.

Thankfully, I hear bald is fairly low maintenance, so that’s cool. But like… do I even need shampoo anymore? I don’t even know how to take care of a head with no hair!

Preparing vs. Doing

I started cutting my hair shorter once I found out chemo was part of the treatment plan. First a longer bob, then a shorter bob. Mohawk, then buzz cut. Brandht committed to doing any haircut I did. He chickened out on the bobs though. Wuss.

What does one do when they first lose their hair anyways? Do you save a little clump, tie it with a bow, and keep it like a child’s first haircut? Do you wallow in your grief? Do you cry to your husband and your bestie?

I did all three, then shaved off my mohawk.

I hoped that these baby steps would help prepare me emotionally when it came time for the hair loss. It probably would have—if I hadn’t visibly and physically witnessed myself losing my hair before my buzz cut. It wouldn’t have felt so drastic. But not gonna lie, I shed a tear when I held that loose hair in my hands.

I know I will be fine. Hair grows back, and my friends say I’m pretty hot with a shaved head. Thanks, boos!

But it is still shocking seeing that reflection looking back at me. I will get used to it eventually.

If not…There’s talk that a wig party is in the works, so let’s see where that leads us!

Looking for the Silver Lining

I always try to look at things in a realistic yet optimistic way. I try to find small victories or humorous moments in an otherwise bleak chapter of my life. So here are a few of those little moments I’m choosing to hold on to:

My hair WILL grow back.

This picture of the whole family bald… it is frightfully hilarious. The girls wanted to go bald with me. This picture quickly made them realize they indeed do NOT want to go bald. And neither should our pets. YIKES. Thanks, AI, for the nightmarish laughs.

The “Well, HELLOOO Baldie!” greeting from Luci as she walks in the door after school, along with the constant rubbing of my head and reminders that it feels like Uncle Blue’s head now.

I no longer need to brush my hair, and honestly, the less time it takes to get ready for the day, the better.

I won’t wake up choking on chunks of hair when it finally all falls out at once. Instead, my pillow will probably look like my husband’s sink after he shaves his face… tiny little hair glitter that I will likely never fully get rid of.

Things I Can’t Get Used To

Being bald is not for everyone. While I’m thankful I have an okay-shaped head for it, it’s still hard to grasp that I have NO HAIR. I see it in my shadow, in the mirror… it’s kind of hard to miss. It’s like if Uncle Fester took Ozempic.

My head gets cold easily, which turns into a headache almost immediately.

Wigs are itchy and annoying.

My clothes get stuck to my head when I’m getting dressed and undressed because my scalp is basically Velcro now.

And it’s a lot harder to hide that I’m going through treatment now. The stares and the facial expressions that follow from complete strangers. Not that I am ashamed that I am going through treatment for cancer. I’m not at all. It is just a reminder that I can’t mask everything. And that is ok.

A note from the author

We all handle the grief of losing oneself in our own ways. I am not here to tell anyone how to feel or how to cope during their cancer journey. I am writing my story and choosing to cope with this through real feelings and dark humor. I choose not to let cancer define who or what I am. I have cancer. Cancer does not have me.

I just hope that by reading my story, it helps those of us going through similar things to feel a little freer from the control the word “cancer” can have—and maybe find a little humor and light on the other side.

Thank you for reading my blog today!