Reid Marsted........................... . . . . . . About My Hair
: A Journey to Recovery
Excerpts from the Book
I am a photographer. Periodically, I am a cancer patient. This is
a somewhat haphazard photographic diary that I kept to document
the changes in my hair that I knew would occur as I dealt with surgery,
a cancer diagnosis, and the chemotherapy that would be necessary
chose to shoot these images with one of my favorite films, black
and white infrared film. I like the otherworldly look of the images,
which paralleled the way I was feeling. I have kept up with the
chronicle past the end of my chemotherapy and have created a book
which I am trying publish. In November, 1999, I introduced a bit
of color in the form of color infrared and color photographs, as
I began to feel my own life and color coming back to normal.
This is a self-portrait.
Using infrared film, I was trying to photograph the asymmetries
in my face. Instead I photographed My Third Eye. It must have been
trying to tell me something. Even then, in 1997, I sensed there
was a problem. Surgery, radiation and chemotherapy for rectal cancer,
back in 1988, had ended my periods. Now, I was bleeding erratically,
and hadn't for eight years. My doctor said it was just a result
of radiation damage. I didn't think so.
cancer information of all kinds can be found at the American Cancer Society's
informative web site: www.cancer.org or by phone at 1-800-4-CANCER.
before an art show I hadn't even hung was set to open, in mid-November,
1998, I was rushed to the hospital with an intestinal obstruction.
The CT scan of my intestines also showed that my uterus was enlarged.
I wasn't surprised. I knew the bleeding I'd been experiencing wasn't
normal. My surgeon asked me if I wanted to have my uterus removed
by a gynecologist after he had dealt with the obstruction. None
of this was very pleasant, but I was actually happy to think that
I'd be getting rid of my bothersome uterus, so I agreed quickly,
on the condition that the surgery wait until after the opening.
The obstruction was allowing a little soft food to pass by, so as
long as I was careful, a few extra days wouldn't matter that much.
A thorough description of endometrial and
uterine cancer can be found at NCI, the National Cancer Institute,
in its reliable, informative site. Click
here to connect.
This was me in December
of 1998. The surgery scar was healing. Now it was time to deal with
the idea of heavy duty chemotherapy. I was scheduled for a "cut
and color". Why color what will fall out and why not cut it really
short so there won't be so much to fall, I thought. I was on my
way to the hairdresser, and after that the wig store, and finally,
a different me.
This is the cut.
It was a few days after the picture above. My first chemo was scheduled
for December 14. Just a bit less than a month past my November 17th
surgery. If you want to read about what I was thinking as I waited
for the chemotherapy, follow the link (by clicking on the picture)
to "Second Primary" which I began writing as I was waiting for that
first dose of chemo. If you just want to look at the pictures, keep
I managed to keep
my hair until after New Year's Eve! I was very gentle with my hair
and my head. I barely touched it and my hair stayed looking pretty
good (if a bit greasy) until January 6th when it started to fall
out. There is a long article on ALOPECIA (which is what you have
when you don't have any hair). Much of it pertains to people undergoing
chemo as well as people with alopecia for other reasons. See below
for a link.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
As my hair began
to fall out, I still had to wash it. One morning, Jeff walked into
the bathroom and I realized how much alike we looked, so I took
this picture of us smiling to give us a smile later on.
Here are my tresses
going down the drain. I was so happy I had cut them, so that what
floated down the tub was not too depressing.
This is just about
as bald as you can get. My eyelashes and eyebrows were gone, but
I got pretty good with an eyebrow pencil. In the winter I wore a
hat with no wig mainly because there wasn't room for the wig. When
it got warm, I only went once without my wig - I wore a baseball
cap to a doctor's appointment and I felt very self- conscious, so
I never did it again. The wig looked good. I washed it once a week
which was a nice change from the daily wash which had been my norm
when I had hair to wash. Actually, as I mentioned earlier, I bought
two wigs at their suggestion, but although they were supposed to
be the same, I liked one much better than the other and wore it
most of the time. Luckily it lasted. I liked getting compliments
on my nice haircut. In a dream, my favorite wig disintegrated from
overuse, leaving me with only the second choice.
Sex is an important
issue when you are sick with cancer. A pleasant sexual encounter
helps to make you forget some of the bad things going on in your
life. Most doctors, I found, seemed hesitant to talk about sexual
matters. My surgeon was an exception. At my follow-up visit his
first question was: "Have you tried sex yet?" I was speechless and
had to admit that I hadn't. I was afraid. I felt so fragile. His
encouragement made me realize that I was ready to try. Jeff was
pleased. He hadn't wanted to push me. With my other doctors, gynecologist
included, I had to be the one who wasn't embarrassed. I had to bring
it up. It was worth the momentary intake of breath I could see the
doctor take to have my questions answered. During therapy decisions
for my first cancer, I was amazed that a radiologist (a woman who
was not my eventual choice) neglected to tell me that radiation
therapy would cause the death of my ovaries. I had seen seven doctors
for various parts of my treatment before I learned that important
fact from my chosen radiologist (a man). Luckily for me, at that
point I already had my family.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Here I am in November
1999. The color is coming back.
New Year's Eve of
the millennium, feeling very good - getting ready to go to a party.
We were still together. Jeff had been concerned about me and patient
with my ups and downs, and still is. It had been a year to remember
and to forget. It was the perfect time to start on a new life.
Here I am with hair
that has grown long enough to cut a couple of times to keep it in
shape. It hasn't been dyed. I decided to give that up. Now is a
time to avoid unnecessary poisons. I look like a Karakul lamb. My
mother used to have a lambskin coat that was almost the same, a
curly mixture of gray and brown. When I was a child I had ringlets.
Later I had waves. The chemo left me with tight curls. I've been
asked where I got my perm. A friend had chemo similar to mine. Her
hair grew back straight as a stick. An acquaintance, also a cancer
survivor who had chemotherapy, told me her hair had grown in extremely
curly. Now, a year later, it is quite straight. I guess I'll just
have to wait and see what happens to me. I try not to become too
enamored with my present hair so I won't miss it if it goes straight.
............ ............ ............
This is me in January
2000, just about a year from the day my hair began to fall out.
The curls have remained so far. I look a bit like a Karakul lamb.
The gray doesn't show too much in this photo. I've had my hair cut
a few times to keep it in shape. I haven't yet decided whether to
go back to coloring it as I did before.
| I have finally finished the book from which this
web site was drawn. I published it myself.
You'll find the web site for my publishing company at: www.capellidangelipress.net.
Find information on ordering an autographed copy at: www.aboutmyhair.com.
From the response to the book as I was writing it and
the web site, I can see that together they may help the
reader/viewer realize that chemotherapy and hair loss
don't have to be devastating experiences.