Follow my blog with Bloglovin

One year ago today, I let it all hang out. 

I finally had my first “real” outing post-stem cell transplant and went with some gal pals to shop for my first (ever!) wig

I had already revealed my smooth as a baby’s bottom, bald head to the world, through my post “Taking Off The Hat.”

And that was a big deal for me—in fact, it was huge. I was finally taking off my security “blanket,” ready to feel free again.

Being bald for a woman is a very difficult thing. Majority of us don’t follow the hip trends of shaving their heads to look like Amber Rose, GI Jane, Miley Cyrus, Gwen Stefani, etc. Read “Rockin’ Out With My Scalp Out” about life walking around with my bald head out and exposed to everyone.

Because most people who see a shaved head,  automatically think “cancer.” And I was afraid of that. I was afraid at the moment when I’d even have to really look in the mirror and admit to myself, “yes, [self] Cass, you have cancer. This is really happening.”

That’s a hell of a hard thing to try to accept. Accepting cancer is part of your life story is really quite difficult to grasp. 

The thought that your life has taken a turn in the direction of sickness and possibly death was never in the future I’d hoped for. And, though, it’s happened to many people around me, it’s never happened to anyone who was close to me. 

But on this day, one year ago, and with the support of my family and friends was going to get a wig and see myself with hair again for the first time.

It was honestly a bit emotional. I was used to seeing myself without any hair and honestly I’d gotten to the point I didn’t care and was proud of my bald, white head.

Cancer is shocking. It’s a blow to your family, your friends, your health, your dreams—and your hair.

But it is also an awakening. You hear people say, “life is short,” all the time. But do we ever really take that quote and use it to our advantage? More of us, probably fall into the “not taking that advice” category, unfortunately.

We all get bogged down and frustrated with things like cranky kids, whiny pets, outspoken family members, bad hair days, un-vaccummed floors, laundry, messy houses, our vaginas—things like that—that last one is probably just me… but for real, my lady goods are really a freakin’ problem over here… mmmkay? Ya’ll don’t even know the half of it.  

But now that I’ve gone through everything—and I still get frustrated with all of the above things,—a thought rushes to my head that “hey, you’re alive, so take a chill pill.” (And, no I’m not talking about taking a Xanax either.)

So, I do try, more than ever before, to chill the F out. Sometimes I succeed, sometimes not. 

I’m still a high-strung person. I’m always talking and more lively now-days (yay!). But I try, I really try to bring the namaste back into my life. 

I’ve always been… hmm… how do I put this? A tad dramatic. Just a tad.

With dramatics comes a lot of ups and downs and constant going on and on and on (probably why I enjoy writing)…

I’ve had enough drama being pregnant and diagnosed with leukemia so, honestly, I was tired of hiding my big bald head. I was tired of the “dramatic” reveal to my friends and family when I’d take off my hat. I felt like I had to warn people and ask if it was OK. 

There is nothing shameful about having cancer—we’re just the people who won the “unlucky medical lottery” and get our lives interrupted with a long, life-changing disease.

But that’s ok, at least we found it early enough to start treatment, and I’m fortunate to have gotten it under control so quickly.

Don’t get me wrong, I still feel very unattractive right now. I need to spend a pretty dime on new makeup (like all new make up), need a mani/pedi STAT, some brushes and combs, perfume, a good massage and spa day, new clothes, etc. I have no idea where everything went the past two years, but clothes-wise nothing fits. I can’t find my hair dryer (but mom bought me a new one; thanks mom!) or my brushes and combs.

The struggle is real.

I finally put my hair up in it’s first ever ponytail and totally look like a toddler. #themrootsthough 

I’m glad I can finally use something else besides a headband or sunglasses to keep hair off my face, because the way it’s grown in makes me look like a thinner, pale Donald Trump…

And if I don’t look like that, I wake up with some major bed hair. Don’t be jelly, ya’ll. #yesIwokeuplikethis

Can someone come watch my children for like two weeks so I can just sleep? FYI—the bags under my eyes are PRADA. And, praise little 8 pound baby Jesus for concealer. #handsintheair

Can I get an AMEN?

The one good thing about “balding out,” as me and my BFF Lauren say, is my hair is much softer now. If you ever see me, you should feel it. It’s so soft, it is magical—like a unicorn.

Honestly, though, this whole growing out your hair thing (after being bald) is sort of ridiculous. After living without hair for so long, I learned the time I spent on my hair through the years is insane. I really loved being able to get out of the shower and not have to worry about doing anything to my hair and just go. Who really cares? 

But then again, I look at old photos or watch friends/family be able to throw their hair up in a pony or adorable top knot, and I’m pouting in the corner cause I have Donald Trump hair. It literally just sticks out everywhere no matter what I do.

I hate dealing with my frizzy, curly ‘do. 

I hate being bald.

I hate not being able to put my hair in a ponytail.

I hate looking like a dude. 

I hate seeing other women with beautiful hair they can wear countless ways.

I hate this cow-lick in the front of my head.

I hate fixing my hair.

I hate wearing headbands all the time.

I want long hair.

I want no hair. 

I can’t decide which is worse? To have hair or to not care?

I might just go all 2007 Britney again and shave this shit all off, and this time do it for me—and not because of cancer—just ‘cause I’m over the whole long hair deal.

But I want to be able to toss my hair up out of my face and off my neck…

Ugh. Or maybe I should keep growing it out… 

How I hate decision-making…

Ya feel me?

Sincerely Your Donald Trump Look-alike,

 

PS. Watch a video about my journey with AML with photos and video from my wig shopping extravaganza!

Author