Everybody Hates Shampoo Day

Quiz: What is this?

A)   A kitchen item used to wrap up leftover pizza

B)   An essential component in haircare

C)   A cutting-edge medical device used to prevent infection

If you answered anything but A, I’m afraid we’re going to have words. And by “words,” I mean a PowerPoint presentation about hair hygiene and the physics of hydrodynamics.

In the official packet I received from my neurosurgeon’s office about pre-surgical instructions and post-surgical care, there was a paragraph about how to wash one’s head after surgery. “Very carefully,” was the basic answer, but the specifics depended on how one’s scalp incision was closed:

·       Patients with dissolving sutures and skin glue could very gently apply water around the area, as long as they did not scrub, scratch, or pull at the skin and avoided using harsh chemicals, or any shampoo really, on the exact spot for a couple days.

·       Patients with head staples should avoid getting the staples wet entirely. To avoid wetting the staples, this neurosurgical facility recommended wrapping that part of one’s head with “Saran or other cling wrap.” I kid you not.

I found this hilarious. Even my GP thought it chuckle-worthy: “Don’t asphyxiate yourself!” he warned. Some people responded that I such just get myself a pack of shower caps, but they missed the point: How do you wash your hair if you’re wearing a shower cap?

And, my fellow craniotomates, you will need to wash your awful, stinking, surgi-gel and scab-filled hair. It will be disgusting and vile to a level you’ve never experienced before.

So the evening after I got out of the hospital, my husband and I grabbed the cling wrap and went up to the shower … where we quickly realized that whoever wrote that instruction was completely off his or her rocker.

First of all, plastic wrap is a surface upon which moisture flows smoothly. Unless you have the best Press ‘n Seal wrap ever invented, it will not form a seal with your scalp, so the water will flow under the wrap. Secondly… just… WTF. There is no “secondly.”

Brian realized that the best option was to take a clean washcloth, fold it up, place it over my 23 staples (it’s at the back of my head, so I couldn’t see to position it), and have me hold it there. Yes, cloth is absorbent, but if he was careful about where he directed the water stream, it would absorb the water, wicking it away from the staples.

So here’s how it goes:

I’m naked and sitting on the edge of the tub. People healing from craniotomies need to avoid inverting their heads or bending over, so I have to lean as far forward as I can with my neck out straight and upright like a shell-less turtle. Brian is very carefully trying to wet my existing hair without saturating it too much. I have to switch hands occasionally so he can get the other side. Though the water is warm, I get cold quickly because the rest of my body is not under running water. He gently applies the shampoo and rubs the hair strands together (not rubbing the scalp any more than is absolutely required) and then rinses it and squeezes out the excess. He then checks that the staples are still dry. Pat, pat, pat if there’s any sign of moisture, and I’m free to continue the rest of the shower on my own, by which time I’m shaking and exhausted from holding that uncomfortable position.

It will take at least two or three shampoos to get all of the surgi-gel out of your hair. You may start to think, "Well, maybe I'll just keep it. It'll be like permanent hair gel." As I said, everybody hates Shampoo Day.

[Note: Those of you who come by this blog through Facebook know that I’ve already reached the point where I can wash my hair by myself and my staples were removed painlessly. However, Shampoo Day was unpleasant enough to be recorded here for those who may be entering through other web portals.]