It's Not About the Hair

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Worst. Selfie. Ever.

On Recovery Day 10, I went out with a friend. As I had to wear my shiny teal running shoes because of the plantar fasciitis, I opted to wear a teal sequin sweater to match—the only other teal thing in my wardrobe. I had been through the awfulness that is Shampoo Day the day before, so my hair was clean and even styled. I slapped on some makeup and earrings and checked myself out. I looked good. Incredulous, I turned to my husband, “I look good, don’t I?” “Amazing,” he replied, in honest admiration.

Why did I look so good? Because I couldn’t see the back of my head.

One of the first non-medical questions that arises after the subject of craniotomy is brought up is: How much hair will they shave off? It’s a good question, and the answers will differ widely, but the heart of the question is really not about the hair at all.

As with all things brain surgery, location matters. If your tumor is in a frontal lobe along the hairline, you might lose very little. Blogger “The Everywhereist” didn’t have any significant amount shaved off, if I recall correctly. My second-opinion surgeon thought I’d only need only a small patch shaved on the back-left side of my head and that the rest of my hair would probably cover it. It turned out, however, that my neurosurgeon had a … umm … different stylistic vision. (And no cosmetology license!)

Women tend to be judged by appearance more so than men, especially regarding their hair, but no one likes to look horrible. Head staples are a terrible fashion accessory unless you’re the bride of Frankenstein, and even then the judges on Project Runway may say you’re being a bit costume-y.

But yet … it’s not about the hair.

Think of when people are shorn of their locks: prisons, concentration camps, slave-holdings. The loss of hair strips a person of their humanity, their individuality. It leaves the scalp and the personhood exposed and vulnerable. Chemo patients, too, undergo this transformation that can leave them feeling like they look more robotic or alien than human. 

The loss of hair signifies the loss of health, the loss of sexuality, the loss of normalcy. It marks the place where trauma was inflicted on your body. When craniotomy patients ask how much hair they’ll lose, what they’re asking is how soon they’ll return to normal, how soon they’ll start to feel whole again.

In so many ways, I’ve been very fortunate in this process. I’m at a stage in life where I’m not bothered by the Frankenstein-ian mess at the back of my head. The hair will grow back, and it’s actually coming in faster than I expected. My husband isn’t bothered, either, and he’s been my shampooer, so he’s had to get up close to it. But I feel for others who are disturbed by their current or impending hair loss. Take faith, friends, that it will grow out before you know it. And take faith that your concerns are not vanity; they’re sanity. You just want to be you again, and you will be.

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