How to Talk About My Hair

Just don't.

Ha ha ha, I'm not kidding.

I am keenly aware this makes things difficult for people. It's easy to talk about my hair, probably easier than most cancer-related items. Heck, I just posted a diatribe against all the wrong things people let escape their air holes and now I'm taking one of the most superficial topics off the table entirely? Am I really that unreasonable?

Yes, I am that unreasonable. Let me explain.

The overwhelming majority of comments about my hair are simple observations. "Your hair is so curly!" "You look so different." And my favorite: "Look at your hair!"

Did you just tell me to look at my own hair?

I know what my hair looks like, I have mirrors at home. I know it is more curly than usual. I know I look different. I look at my hair several times a day. Try harder.

"Your hair is getting so long!"

Yes, compared to being bald, it IS getting longer.

"Was it always so curly?"

Um, considering we knew each other before I was diagnosed, do you really have to ask that? Should I show you the six pictures of us on Facebook where my hair is stick straight? I'm supposed to be the one with chemo brain.

My most favorite: "Hey, you're hair is growing!"

So's yours. Try harder.

Please stop arguing with me when I tell you that the curls are going to go away. No, it's not just like your hair when you let it get long and the weight drags it down. Unless, of course, your body was also pumped through with toxic chemicals that killed your hair follicles at the root? No? I guess it's not the same then. Believe me when I explain what's happening, I've been through this before.

Please stop arguing with me when I express irritation with it. You can say you like it, that's very nice for you; I'm glad you have a positive opinion of my appearance. But it doesn't behave predictably for me, and having to deal with it is a constant, daily, ever-present reminder that I am still Cancer Kate. It's not as easy as just "enjoy it!" It's complicated and fraught for me. Sorry about it.

The truth is there is only one thing that is remotely acceptable (ye olde reliable "You look great") and it still pushes me off my game. I don't want to focus on how the cancer treatment affected my looks, even with an encouraging compliment. I just want to be me. Every single day, I am faced with Cancer Kate. Yes, she's changing, recovering, the hair is growing out, the curls are loosening. She may even look cute sometimes. But she's not the Kate I was before the diagnosis. It's different now, I'm different now, and I can't keep it private because of the damn hair. Talk of my hair keeps the cancer on the surface, exactly where I don't want it to be.

So many of my days are about trying to be "normal," doing the things I want to do and blending in with everyone else. Not being a cancer patient. It's easier all the time as my doctors’ visits get fewer and further, as my system rights itself, as I turn my experience into support and guidance for others. And then I run into someone I haven't seen in a while and they comment on my hair: my reaction is as visceral as the smell of the hand soap in my downstairs bathroom. This is what chemo smelled like, this is from was when I was bald. I was bed-ridden and anguished and so very, very tired. Remember that, Kate? Losing all your hair to chemotherapy? Yeah, I remember.

I do know that you mean well. I don't judge you for talking about my hair. I know you are, at best, being supportive and positive, and at worst, being innocuously reactive to a visage you haven't seen in a while. You mean no harm.

I still don't like it.

I am collecting pictures for a new hairstyle, I may go get a cut today. I'm hoping the curls come off. I'm hoping for stick straight hair that looks more like non-cancer Kate. I'm hoping that the reactions to my hair die down to what's normal for all of us: "Oh, you got a haircut — it looks cute!" No comparisons to how curly it was, how short it was, how different it's been. Just be normal with me now.