Skip to main content

Hair today… Gone tomorrow



After two months of battling through EC (aka the red devil), it was finally time to transition to Paclitaxel. I had braced myself for this change, but nothing could have prepared me for what happened during my first session.

I was settled in my chair at the Sussex Cancer Centre, mentally gearing up for the long infusion ahead, when suddenly, the patient next to me had a severe allergic reaction. Within seconds, the crash team rushed in, alarms blaring, nurses moving swiftly… it was terrifying to witness. Time felt like it had stopped, and I couldn’t look away. It was a sobering reminder that chemotherapy is never predictable, no matter how many times you’ve been through it.

The nurses, always incredible, reassured us all, reminding us to speak up immediately if we felt anything unusual such as chest pain, flushing, dizziness, anything. But even with their reassurance, my anxiety shot through the roof.

Sensing my fear, my chemo nurse stayed by my side for the first 30 minutes of my infusion, making sure I was okay. It was such a small gesture, but in that moment, it meant everything. Before she left, she handed me the red emergency button and told me to press it if I needed her. That button became my security blanket.

Thankfully, I didn’t have a severe reaction, but that didn’t mean I was in the clear. The pre-meds they gave me to prevent an allergic reaction - including dexamethasone - had their own side effects. Within minutes, I felt this strange, restless energy crawling through my body, like I had ants in my pants. It was such an intense, jittery feeling that I actually fell off my chair during my first infusion! Awkward? Yes. But thankfully, the sensation passed quickly.

Another big adjustment was the longer treatment sessions. Paclitaxel infusions took 6-7 hours, compared to EC’s 4-5 hours. That meant I had to seriously up my distraction game. My chemo bag became my survival kit, packed with:

    📖 My Kindle (for when I could focus)
    🎧 Playlists filled with calming music
    📱 Social media scrolling (because let’s be honest, sometimes you just need mindless entertainment)
    🎨 A colour-by-numbers book (surprisingly therapeutic!)

The antihistamines they gave me before treatment also worked wonders, not just for preventing reactions, but for knocking me out. I often found myself dozing off mid-session, which actually made the time pass faster.

Losing my hair was one of the hardest parts of chemo. I thought I was prepared, I had cut my long, wavy hair into a pixie cut before starting treatment, hoping it would make the transition easier. I even tried scalp cooling, holding onto the hope that it might help. But despite all my efforts, after just a couple of cycles of EC, my hair started falling out in clumps. By the time I transitioned to Paclitaxel, I lost it all… along with my eyebrows, eyelashes, and even my nose hair. I never realized how much I'd miss nose hair until I was constantly dealing with a runny nose!

I had bought wigs, assuming I’d wear them, but in the end, they just didn’t feel like me. Instead, I slowly embraced my baldness. If you had told me at the beginning of this journey that I’d be confident going out without a wig, scarf, or beanie, I wouldn’t have believed you. But by the end of chemo, I owned it. It became a symbol of everything I had been through.

If you’re about to start chemotherapy, here are some things that helped me and might help you too:
  • Small habits make a big difference: Fresh pineapple and melon at breakfast helped with oral thrush, and ginger or mint tea eased nausea. Staying hydrated was key.
  • Take care of your nails: Paclitaxel made mine dark and brittle, but using PolyBalm helped keep them from breaking too badly.
  • Ice is your best friend: Sucking on ice chips helped with a sore mouth, and adding ice to drinks made them more bearable when everything started tasting off.
  • Losing nose hair is a thing: And it means a constantly runny nose. Keep tissues handy!
  • Moving is better than resting: On bad days, I wanted to stay in bed, but even short walks made me feel so much better.
  • Sunglasses aren’t just for summer: Chemo made my eyes dry and sensitive, so I wore them year-round to protect them.
  • Listen to your body: If something feels off, call your oncology team. Don’t assume it’s just another chemo side effect, it’s always better to check.
I put together a list of products that really helped me get through treatment on the Products That Helped page. But I know that everyone’s journey is different, so what worked for me might not be the perfect fit for you. Be sure to check with your oncology and chemo teams to find what’s best for your needs!

Chemotherapy is a rollercoaster... physically, emotionally, and mentally. No two experiences are exactly the same, and the journey can be unpredictable. Some days are tough, and some feel impossible, but we keep moving forward in our own way. I’d love to hear about your experience, what has chemo been like for you? What’s helped you get through the hardest days?

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Welcome to My Journey: Finding Strength Through Sharing

Hey there, and welcome to My World My Life , my little corner of the internet. After what felt like an endless process, I’ve finally moved all my old blog posts from their outdated home to this fresh new space. It wasn’t easy, balancing this with treatment, work, and family life, but with a little help from my family, I made sure every post made it over intact. No missing entries, no broken links (because let’s be honest, that totally would have happened). Now that everything is in place, I couldn’t be more excited for what’s ahead. This blog isn’t just about sharing my journey; it’s about creating a space where we can connect, support one another, and navigate life’s unexpected twists together. One of those twists came in the form of breast cancer. One moment, I was going about my usual routine, and the next, I was sitting in a doctor’s office, hearing words that didn’t feel real. In an instant, my world flipped upside down. My days became a whirlwind of appointments, treatments, and ...

Redefining Life After Cancer: My Journey to a New Normal

In 2023, my world - and my family’s - was completely turned upside down with my breast cancer diagnosis. It was the year my biggest dream came true when we bought our house. And it was the year my worst nightmare became reality when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Two life-altering events, colliding at the same time. But it wasn’t just life that changed... I will never return to the person I was before cancer. Sometime I grieve that version of me, the one who lived without this constant awareness of mortality. I thought I understood that life was finite, but there’s a difference between knowing it in theory and feeling it in your bones every day. The fear of recurrence or the cancer spreading isn’t just an abstract worry; it’s a shadow that lingers, a rational dread because cancer doesn’t play by the rules. It can return or spread at any time. And that reality is something I have to learn to live with. The idea of a “happily ever after” shattered in an instant. Moving into our new ...

And So It Begins...

Sitting in that cold, sterile room when the doctor said the words "you have cancer," I felt like the floor had dropped beneath me. In that instant, fear gripped me tightly, and all I could think about was fighting this thing growing inside me. My mind switched to survival mode, and I felt like a deer caught in headlights. That feeling of shock and terror lingered for what seemed like an eternity. The process to get to a treatment plan felt painfully slow, pushing my anxiety to new heights. Prepare yourselves, those waiting periods are the worst. First, there was the wait for the initial consultation, followed by what seemed like endless weeks waiting for tests and their results. Knowing there was cancer inside me and not being able to do anything immediately was excruciating. Two months post-diagnosis, my treatment path was laid out; I was scheduled for a therapeutic mammoplasty; a combination of a lumpectomy and breast reduction surgery, to remove the cancer from my left bre...