I have to be honest and say that I find some of the above recent comments to be somewhat disparaging to myself. When I was diagnosed three years ago at age 57, I was, and still am a public patient. I was diagnosed at a major Sydney teaching hospital, where nothing was mentioned to me about cold caps. I had never heard of them until joining this group, and by then my AC chemo had been completed, and the point would have been moot. I was told that I would definitely loose my hair, that on my head and my entire body. I was told that it would start by me having an itchy or even painful scalp, after which my head hair would start to fall out in bits and pieces, but that ultimately about 90 - 100% would go. I had very long hair then...I used to sit on it. It had been longer than waist length since my teens. When I got married 39 years ago, I sat on it. My babies played with it, and it was sort of my trademark. I was known as either so and so's wife, so and so's mother or the lady with the long hair. The knowledge of me losing it, in dribs and drabs, in the shower, on my pillow and just generally everywhere was very distressing to me. I had no control over the cancer, other medical conditions, or, as far as I knew then, over the loss of my hair. My very identity. I did, however have control over how it would go. My daughter and daughter in law brushed and then plaited it one last time, my beloved husband then cut the plait off with tears streaming down his face, and my son finished off with clippers. My 14 month old grandson cheered from the sidelines in his highchair. I felt loved and supported and empowered. This had nothing...nothing...to do with some exhibitionistic tendency to want to shout out in public "Look at me...Look at me...I have cancer...look at poor little me." It was not some kind of one up showcard to flash at others implying that they were not as committed as I, and that they with hair had somehow let down the sisterhood. Had I known about, and had I had the finances for cold capping, I would have given it a go. As it happened, the remaining stubble on my head all came out and each shower session left me with hairy hands, much like a werewolf, but that was just the last 2mm. The cancer could have that, I still had my plaited ponytail as a reminder of what was. If some others have really expressed the above sentiments, well then they are accountable for that. I however do not want to be painted with the same brush as them.
