The Reverse Mullet Undercut

My hair was my thing. Long, luscious, naturally straight, and easy to style. All my life I really took it for granted how beautiful and effortless it was. Until I met my husband, then boyfriend, way back when. He was very generous with his compliments, but he especially loved my hair. And so I started to appreciate it and take better care of it. Especially during postpartum. The shedding that happened after I gave birth to each of my girls competed with the shedding of our cockerspaniel. The widow’s peaks and overall thinning were alarming, but normal and expected due to the miraculous pregnancy hormones and the release of stored up shedding when the party’s over. The shower drain was always clogged. It feels like a lot, but it’s really not. Balance is restored once hormones even out and depleted stores are replenished.

Fast forward to a year after my third and final luscious pregnancy hair purge, I had to learn what real hair loss was. An unexpected after effect that nobody mentioned and one that I wasn’t prepared for.

It was several weeks after I had returned home from a two day neurosurgery and two week hospital stay in New Jersey. Back in Toronto, I was A-OK with my expected hair loss. Knowledge is power. When you’re informed and expecting something to happen, you have options and agency in the matter. I knew they would be shaving off the hair on the side of my head. I was mentally and emotionally prepared. I had psyched myself up for my new, cool, hairdo. Something I would have never chosen for myself, but something I could rock, for the sake of life giving surgery. Plus, it would grow back. I was grateful to have time to talk to my children about it, and found a movie character we could relate to. It was Namaari from Raya and the Last Dragon if you’re wondering. She had a shaved undercut on one side and a narrow cornrow braid running along the part line. I imagined my new shaved section with my C shaped scar, the staples would look a little like beads in a braid. I would feel tough. I was about to be tough. The toughest, bravest and strongest version of myself possible, in order to bring my cool haircut home to Canada.

Thankfully, I did. And the shaved bald area was growing back quickly. After the staples were out and swelling went down, the area healed up and the scar looked better every day. Soon, half of the C was covered with new growing hair. I felt like a quarter headed Chia pet. It was such a small area, I didn’t care. But then, several weeks later, clumps and chunks of hair started to fall out in my hands in the shower, in my brushes, and all around the house. Soon there were bald spots all over. Within days, the entire lower half of my head was fully bald and what was left on top was thin and mousey. I sent pictures and questions to my surgeons. They weren’t positive what was to blame. It could have been radiation from the repeated x-rays used during the several hour long embolization procedure. It could be a stress response. I was, of course, laying in pain trying to regain the ability to speak and swallow in a hospital bed in a different country missing my family back home. I was going downhill physically and mentally, and it was a recipe for disaster. Two two full days under anesthesia and barely moving for two weeks, hooked up to a continuous stream of vicious cycle pain mediations and anti-nauseants. Then significant, eventful, traumatic events after discharge. My body and nervous system endured so much. And once I was feeling a little better after several weeks of recovery and the best medicine at home, came the emotional after effects, and the hairloss. Much like aftershocks following an earthquake, they can occur weeks, months or years later.

The hair kept falling so I prepared myself for the worst. I looked up wigs like Samantha from SATC, and bought chemo caps from Amazon. I don’t know why I needed actual chemo caps. It was June in Toronto. For whatever reason, it was comforting to have them ready. I cried in the shower, where nobody could see. I was ashamed of being upset about something so trivial as hair. I had just won the medical miracle lottery, getting an “inoperable” tumor safely and fully resected from my head. My cranial nerves were recovering well. I was talking again, and eating slowly but surely, once more. I couldn’t raise my left arm and had some trouble initiating urination, two things that both surprised me and annoyed me, but didn’t bring upon the tears like my hair loss did. Peeing came back naturally. Shoulder mobility came back with time, patience and work.

Nobody knew my hair would grow back. Hair growth after radiation is dose dependent. I used to have to inform patients about it when I worked in the field. They would have had to xray the same spot a lot of times for it to be permanent. If caused by stress, it would likely grow back but only time would tell. Thankfully, the loss slowed down and eventually stopped. I was left with about 1/4th of my hair. I was very lucky it was the top fourth. And according to well meaning people, I still had more hair than them. Aka my remaining reverse mullet, very aggressive under cut, still left me with a reasonable amount of hair that I should be grateful for. And I was. Truly. I was extremely grateful.

Within a few months, I had Chia growth all over the back of my head. Then it grew thicker and wild. It was full of life and out of control most days. When I looked in the mirror on a good day I said “Girl! The back of your head is ridiculous” and it made me laugh. It grew and it grew. Everytime I went to the hairdresser, she would trim it and straighten it, and take pictures of my progress. Once it got halfway down my neck, I thought about cutting the rest of it to meet the new length. Instead, I decided to do the opposite. It was long enough to attach more hair. I’m so glad I did. For many months, as new growth was catching up to what was left, I treated myself to gorgeous hair extensions that made me feel awesome. The funny / crazy / weird part about it all, is that most people didn’t notice. Not even those I saw on the regular. Not that I was half bald for half of the year, and not when I had half of a head of extensions. My hairdresser’s the best.

It goes to show that even the most obvious, outward symptoms and side effects can still be invisible to others. But that doesn’t make them any less challenging for us. Most of what I felt when the tumor was inside of my head was completely invisible to the outside world. It made getting a diagnosis and help more challenging. The disabilities I was left to rehab out of after surgery, such as my speech, swallow and shoulder, were also largely imperceptible. The amount of times someone has rudely demanded I “speak up.” And then my undercut which only got airtime in the comfort of my own home and the hair salon.

Knowledge truly is power. Being informed helps us be prepared and feel empowered. After surgery I was left with a permanently paralyzed vocal cord, but I was fully ready to deal with the aftermath and rehab. It was expected and there were plans in place if things went sideways. I was mentally and physically prepared to fight that battle and win. I was informed, supported and ready. Unexpected side effects don’t hit the same way. And they deserve to come out from under the rug. I believe in sharing our stories and experiences, from the smallest of issues, like hair, to the really big ones, like fertility and paralysis. Let’s help patients and caregivers be informed, prepared and empowered on their journey. We can make a path and leave a trail.