My Cancer Hair Journey, in Pictures

Before, during, after

Jan 20, 2026

I knew I was going to lose my hair during cancer treatment, but what I didn’t know is how liberating it would feel. I’ve had long brown hair for as long as I can remember. If it weren’t for cancer, I don’t think I ever would have dared cut it short, let alone shave it. My long hair was very much a part of my identity.

I considered cold-capping, but it seemed like too much of a schlep. Often women have to bring their own cooler boxes filled with dry ice and multiple cool caps to the hospital, and a nurse or friend usually helps swap the caps on a strict schedule. I was already nervous about chemo and focused on, well, staying alive, that I didn’t have the mental bandwidth to worry about hair.

My oncologist warned me that my hair would start to fall out around 15 days after my first chemo session. So I decided to approach it in stages. Before I started treatment, I cut it to just below my shoulders. I planned to shave my head at some point, rather than deal with bald patches interspersed with strings of hair. Night of the Living Dead was not the look I was going for.

As I approached my second round of chemo, I started noticing long strands of hair on my pillow and on the floor. When I brushed my hair, clumps of hair would come out.

“I think it’s time,” my husband said.

We had decided he would shave my head for me. So a couple of days after Christmas, we shut our bedroom door, leaving the kids to watch a movie with my father-in-law. We positioned a chair in our ensuite bathroom, in front of the mirror. I was deep in a Taylor Swift phase (this was peak Eras Tour), so I put on Folklore and gave my husband the go-ahead to start shaving.

“It doesn’t actually look that bad,” I commented halfway through, turning my head to assess the shaved side. The roots were gray, streaked with my natural brown color.

When it was done, I was surprised at how much I liked it.

“You look beautiful,” my husband said.

The kids were a little slower to accept it. I no longer looked like “Mommy,” and that was hard for them.

I had bought a wig, but I ended up never using it. I just didn’t feel like myself. I did wear headscarves sometimes, especially at the start, when all I had was a bit of peach fuzz. But soon I started ditching those too, and decided to simply embrace what was. If I was cold, I’d simply wear a beanie. It helped how supportive my friends and family were, affirming how “rock star” I looked, like Sinead O’Connor and the like.

It’s been a journey, and my hair is finally almost shoulder length once again. I’ve gone through phases of total acceptance, as well as phases of impatience. Now, I want long hair again, perhaps as a way to feel like my old self. If I ever cut my hair short again, or shave it, I want it to be on my terms, and my terms alone.

If you’re curious, here’s my hair journey in pictures.