4 black women remember what it was like to lose all their hair during breast cancer treatment

Breast cancer is a disease that can strike at any time or at any age. And while people diagnosed are primarily health-focused, it's also normal for people to wonder how cancer treatment will affect their body.

The fear of losing your hair because of chemotherapy or being afraid to say goodbye to your natural breasts before undergoing a mastectomy are legitimate fears. And for blacks in particular, with regard to their skin, these concerns can be even more pressing. This group not only has the tendency to develop larger scars after surgery, but is also more likely to develop keloids and hypertrophic scars as a result of any skin trauma.

During treatment, and even after the end of this chapter, some may not recognize the person they see in the mirror. But it is important to know that there is no shame in expressing these concerns. Initiatives such as Lipstick Angels, which provides free services like makeup applications, facials and massages in Los Angeles, San Francisco and New York, include the need to feel confident during treatment. Organizations such as Sisters Network also provide an excellent national support network for black women with breast cancer living in the United States, while The Olive Branch of Hope can provide services similar to those based in Toronto, Canada.

Of course, anyone undergoing chemotherapy will probably lose their hair, but for blacks – who already tend to have a much more complicated relationship with their natural locks than most other breeds – sometimes the hair loss associated with cancer can to be even more devastating.

Breast cancer survivors Monique Bryan, Kelly DeVose, Leanne Pero and Tiffany Edmondson were all forced to say goodbye to all their hair during treatment. And now, they share the impact it has had on their journey, even after defeating the disease.

"I was confident that I was going to beat the odds and not lose my hair.I remember the first chemotherapy treatment, they tell you that you will probably lose it." [about two weeks] after starting chemotherapy. After the first treatment, I thought, "I did not lose my hair, so it's okay", but it was not 15 days.

By day 15, I literally started losing pieces of my hair.

I remember sitting and [my husband and I] were watching Netflix, and I put my hand in my hair and scratched my head – I barely touched it – and he came out with a piece in his hand. I panicked by watching him and I put him on the nightstand. My husband did not notice, and I sit there crying silently and he leans in the air: "Oh my God, what happened? And I was like – I'm losing my hair! & # 39;

It was very traumatic. We literally feel like it is tearing your head off. It's like that tingling – it's a horrible, horrible feeling.

I would cut random pieces, put my hat on and do my things. And then, when my hairdresser arrived, I had this feeling of embarrassment because she had been taking care of my hair for six years. And we did everything with my hair – I dyed them and mohawks, and we became natural, and we persevered – we did so much to my hair. My hair was my crown. And I said to myself: "She's going to come here and have to shave that and see me sick. I do not want someone to see me sick. & # 39; But she came and I invited my family to come and we blew the music, had some tunes and she shaved my head.

Once he was gone, I remember that my brother was looking at me and that he was saying to himself, "You know what, my sister, I was worried, I was worried about you. But you have a nice fit head.

I really felt a lot of freedom. As black women, we must always wear a shower cap. You know when you keep your head a little out of the water because it will ruin everything that happens? I even forget sometimes that I no longer need to do it, because I have never pushed my hair back, I shaved it. There was so much freedom in not having to comb my hair. No product, nothing. Just like water. I was free. "

Kelly DeVose, diagnosed at age 32

"I did not know that I was angry about losing my hair, I think I kind of accepted the fact that I knew I would need chemo. Hair was not the hardest part – it was hard, but not the hardest part.

I [tried a wig] and Lord Jesus, I had to give it up – I could not wait to throw that thing in the trash. I had a wig and I only wore it a few times. Like, my uncle had a birthday party, I wore it there. My sister is married, I carried her there. I remember that I was driving with my mother, we were on the fast track, and it itched so much that I could not take it – I just removed it and there was someone next to we. When he crossed us, I had the wig and when we met him, I was completely bald. He looked like "Whoa".

The hardest part for me was knowing that when it was all over, you know chemotherapy, surgeries and everything else, that, honestly, I would not be a different person, but a different person, if it had meaning. The hardest part was just to constantly remind myself when I looked at my scars, you know, [cancer] is the reason.

So, yes, sometimes I'm sad when I look at them because I would like them to not be there. I would just like to be able to come back in March 2011, or even in December 2010 – I found the hump in January 2011. In December 2010, I was in Florida for the Christmas season, just taking advantage of life. And sometimes, I think back to my life and wonder how life would be in January 2011 if this mass had never existed and if I had never crossed it. But I do not linger long on these moments.

You know what's funny? Before the diagnosis, my breasts were so small. I wondered how on earth did this small tumor find this little piece of breast tissue on this little piece of pussy? So, in fact, my fools are bigger than before cancer.

I am a little aware of myself because, because of the nature of my operation, I have restored the tissue from inside my thigh. So I have these 13-inch scars that wrap under the buttocks. So it's as if the bikinis were out of the question. I do not care about anything and everything, but it's my personal business that I have to manage before I can say that I'm at a point where I'm comfortable. The attitude means a lot. And that does not mean that you are not sick, or that you act like you did not experience that, but it just meant that you accepted the fact that you had gone through it. but despite going to smile. "

"I've tried the cold cap treatment here in the UK … the problem is that it's a known fact that it does not work with afro hair, so I've finished by losing my hair two weeks after my first chemotherapy treatment … stop crying because the hair fell off and left huge stains.I decided to shave everything.There were a lot of tears, but I must admit that when he came out I felt liberated, and very proud of myself for taking a stand!

I have experimented with wigs. I must admit that I wore many fabrics beforehand, but that I knew nothing about wigs. So, when I started shopping for wigs, it was a hilarious experience with synthetic wigs. I bought two cheap ones and a few days later I had an allergic reaction to the synthetic material. And the hospital I assigned to a local cancer charity was not designed for black women's hair and there was not much choice. So I invested in a special wig in human hair that cost me £ 350 [$458.56]but that gave me the confidence to go out of the house. I was still not comfortable showing my bald head.

Because of my age and family history, the recommended treatment was a double mastectomy. I knew it from the beginning and had time to digest it, but the break point during treatment came when I lost my eyelashes and eyebrows. Before losing them, I admit that they were some of the only things that made me feel feminine and that, with my hair, I struggled to look at myself in the mirror.

I stood up and before facing anyone, including the postman, I was making up my makeup, my wig, my eyebrows and my false eyelashes. The truth was under the bravado and positivity that I presented – I felt ugly and I did not feel like anything anymore. Before cancer, I had never been the most confident girl in the field of appearances, but I knew that my appearance did not define me, nor the person who was.

Breast cancer robs you of everything that society claims to make of you a woman, but that does not have to define you. "

Tiffany Edmondson, diagnosed at 26

"Obviously, the most important thing for me was my life and doing all I needed to do to beat all that, but I would like to say that I had no idea of ​​the loss of my hair, nor any hesitation to do it, for me it was a bit like recognizing, in the public sense, that I was sick.

There was no other real way that no one could really tell what was going on with me. The port by which I had chemotherapy, I could hide it with my clothes. But losing my hair was like, OK, now everyone will officially know that something is wrong, that I have cancer, or that they're going to wonder what's going on with me – j & # 39; Was nervous about it.

Once my hair started to fall, it was a sort of thing where I could either sit and watch it and feel like I had no sense of control, or could take control of the situation. and do something about it myself. My hair probably started to fall after my second round of chemotherapy and I decided to shave my head myself. It was more traumatic for me to sit and watch my hair fall. Once I felt liberated, I felt free.

At that time, I did not feel confident enough to leave my house without a wig, hat, or something. It took a long time, but I felt good. I did not feel at the top of the world, but I felt good. Towards the end of my therapy, I became a little more courageous and more confident in what was happening. I shared photos of myself, without the hair on social media, and I left my house several times without anything. on my head.

I pushed back my hair after chemotherapy. I was loved with short hair when my hair started to grow back. I never saw myself with the short haircut at all. I loved it, it was beautiful. But then I made the decision to keep letting my hair grow.

When I had the mastectomy, they initially set up tissue expanders. So, these looked a little strange. They did not look like natural breasts at all. They were hard and uncomfortable. But at that moment, I already saw myself a little differently. Having undergone chemotherapy and cancer, I did not see myself the same way. I was a different person, I could not compare myself to my former person, before my cancer diagnosis at that time, so I was more tolerant towards who I was at that time the.

I had come to this point in my life where it was like an imminent death experience and I managed it. It was impossible for me to go back to what I was. "

The interviews were edited and condensed for clarity.