was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. It was inevitable that I, too, would be bald when after surgery my doctor ordered six chemotherapy treatments as an insurance policy. The loss of my hair just seemed like a minor inconvenience, so I asked my husband, Jay, to shave my head. During the course of Taxol and cisplatin I lost all body hair, and the two of us were one very shiny-headed couple.

Jay has alopoecia areata, an immune system disfunction that prevents hair follicle growth. Since age 15, he has had almost no body hair, although he has experienced the coming and going of eyebrows and eyelashes. Jay wore a hairpiece for almost 30 years before he felt self-confident and secure enough to discard his hairpiece and declare himself to our community.

Although not life-threatening, Jay's disease deeply affected his psyche. As a young swimmer, people taunted him with "Mr. Clean!" As an adult he would not participate in activities like jumping into a pool with his son or playing volleyball because his wig might blow off. Having shared those worries and worked through many of his feelings with him, I have a different perspective on hair. For this reason, losing my hair was not the big deal for me that it often is for many other cancer patients.

In fact, we even had fun with our double-whammy baldness. When I returned to full-time work, Jay and I sent out a card with the photo shown of the two of us, to thank all of our friends and acquaintances for their support during my illness.

Jay runs a support group for adults and youngsters who have alopoecia areata, and we attend all the national meetings. These experiences provided coping mechanisms and gave me strength to endure and pull together a vision of who I am. I never felt ugly, alien or separate from others.

I have since left my stressful, big-league job and am now working part-time in the patient resource center of a local cancer center helping to empower other cancer patients with knowledge of their illness. I am nourished by this job, but now I also take time for meditation, journal writing, exercise and yoga. Now, my philosophy is not to sweat the small things. It's all about being truly alive. L'chaim -- to life!

Reprinted by permission of COPING magazine

Editor's Note: Suzanne is now back in the big-leagues as the Executive Director of the Association of American Cancer Institutes. She is using her experience as a cancer survivor to initiate new survivorship programs within the member Cancer Centers.

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