My Husband Froze My Head to Save My Hair

My Husband Froze My Head to Save My Hair
A Lump in the Road column We had frozen my head according to the instructions, and it did say that some hair loss was to be expected. But was this giant pile a normal amount? I looked in the sink again and saw fine blond hair, long stands like floss of sugar nests on deserts in fancy restaurants. It was piled high, almost artfully, against the white porcelain, and I stared, taking it in and rejecting it at the same time. In my yellow terry cloth robe, I tiptoed downstairs, flipped the kettle on and pulled up the newspaper. “Cancer” was the only word I saw, even though it appeared nowhere on the page. My long hair felt soft against my neck, and I sipped my tea, thinking about what might happen next. Six weeks earlier my husband, Gary, had found a lump in my right breast, about the size of an almond, distinctive and hard near the surface of the skin. “Feel this,” he said.  I put my hand over his fingers, rough, large and manlike against my softer, smaller ones.  I grazed the surface of my breast and then cautiously pressed more firmly. “I’ll call the doctor in the morning.” Chemo began in January. During the interval, my husband found out about a technique some women are using to save their hair during chemotherapy. It’s an expensive gamble that promises fabulous results. “You’ll feel less sick if you don’t lose your hair,” Gary coaxed. “Your recovery will be faster.”
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