My hair was my armor through breast cancer

Everything could be a mess, but if my hair looked good, I felt great. And to be fair, I had amazing hair: thick, full, and curly.  

Fast forward to February 2025, when at age 39, I received a diagnosis of stage II bilateral breast cancer, with triple–negative disease in my right breast and hormone–receptor positive disease in my left breast. The recommended treatment due to the triple–negative diagnosis included an aggressive chemotherapy regimen (Keynote522) that would treat the cancer but also cause me to lose my hair.  

My hair had become a part of who I was. I was the tall girl with the big, beautiful crown of curls. Curls I cherished. How could I lose this part of myself?  

More than hair

My hair is more than hair to me. It’s part of my identity as a Black woman. In my community, young girls can’t wait until the day they can go to the beauty salon with their mommas, aunties, and grandmas. Going to the beauty salon is a rite of passage. More than hair gets done at the beauty salon. It is a gathering place for Black women to rest, restore, commune, kee kee about hot topics, receive relationship advice, and express love for ourselves and each other. It’s a safe space where we can let our hair down both literally and figuratively.  

Given my background, I have always treasured my hair. Growing up, I would chemically straighten my hair. At the age of 26, I decided to stop chemically straightening my hair, allowing my natural curls to shine brightly. For over a decade, I rocked a big crown of beautiful, thick curls that I absolutely loved. I loved everything about my hair because in many ways it mirrored my personality. It was big, bright, bold, and unruly. After almost 15 years of allowing my hair to grow naturally, one day in February 2025 would change how I saw myself forever.  

However, there might be a solution.

Exploring scalp cooling with uncertainty

My oncologist, Dr. Stephanie Graff, explained that hair loss was a side effect of the chemotherapy; however, there was a medical device, Paxman Scalp Cooling, a cold cap therapy that may prevent hair loss from chemotherapy. While I was processing all the information about my diagnosis and treatment plan, Dr. Graff sent in two women who would explain the treatment and help get me fitted for a cap if I chose to purchase one.  

That day, my hair was in its fabulous state of bigness, and these women seemed doubtful about my ability to use this cap. It was everything about my hair: its texture, density, and volume. They gave me my sizing and explained how to reach out about the cap. While I understand these women’s hesitation — they didn’t want to get my hopes up — it was clear that they may never have worked with a woman with my type of hair.  

I felt lost.  

Should I try this device? Would it work? I needed advice. I went to the place where I knew my voice would be heard: my beauty salon.  

Where hope began

Earlier that day, I learned the medical side of the journey. At my salon, Simony, the owner, prepared me for this journey from a different lens: my hair. She talked to me about the hurtful words I might hear about losing my hair, such as “It’s only hair” or “It will grow back” or “You look great without hair.” I never thought about the emotional aspect of the journey with regard to my hair.  

I remember Simony saying, “This diagnosis sucks. You can’t control this journey. However, you can control how you experience your hair.”  

I showed Simony the photo of the scalp cooling device and explained with my limited understanding how it worked. We created a plan to embrace this part of my journey.  

“We can cut it as the journey goes, so it looks like an intentional cut versus losing your hair from chemo,” was Simony’s offer. “Let’s have fun with it. If the device doesn’t work, we will be here for you. Whatever you need.”  

As with many other moments in the beauty salon, my mind shifted from fear and devastation to hope. Simony gave me hope by holding onto my hair. That hope would ground me for the next six months ahead.  

The first step in my hair journey was cutting my hair shorter so the cap could actually fit. I was fearful, even though I’d secretly always wondered if I could pull off a shorter cut. For years, I admired women with pixie cuts, quietly asking myself if I could ever be that brave. That’s when I realized my hair had become armor — deeply tied to my sense of beauty. If this diagnosis was going to take anything from me, it was also going to force me to face my fears head-on. 

That first haircut became something more than a cut. It was a celebration of strength and courage, and it set the tone for the rest of my journey. Two friends drove down from New York City to sit with me in [insert city], and the entire salon showed up to support me. I loved my new look far more than I expected. For the first time, I saw myself differently. My beauty lived in my spirit, not my hair. Still, my hair mattered to me — and if I could keep it, I was going to try. 

A priceless choice — at a cost

My next hurdle was to get the cap. With a price tag of $1,800, on top of the thousands of out-of-pocket expenses for my mammogram, ultrasound, MRI, numerous doctor visits, and fertility-preserving drugs that were not covered, I tried to see if my insurance covered the cap. It did not. This medical device has been shown to help reduce hair loss, but was not yet standard of care. This was extremely upsetting and frustrating. My resilience was being tested, but I was determined to find a way.  

Thankfully, I was directed to the HairToStay program by another survivor, which offered grants for patients hoping to purchase the Paxman cooling cap. I completed an online application and received a grant of $1,440 the same day as my haircut. Due to a GoFundMe by a close friend, I was able to afford to pay for the cap up front and get reimbursed.  

This process was unnecessarily arduous during a very emotional time in my life. I was in the process of fertility preservation while navigating emotions about having cancer, preparing for chemotherapy, both emotionally and mentally. No cancer patient needs to experience the pressure of finding financial resources for a medical device that should be covered by insurance carriers.  

After receiving my cap, I began to do research on the Paxman website about how to prepare my hair for a session. When watching the videos, I realized that my hair texture was much different than other women on the screen. Yes, there were Black women, but my curls varied. I didn’t lose hope. I planned to try.  

Committing to scalp cooling

At my first chemotherapy session, I learned the regimen for the cooling cap. I would wear my cooling cap for two hours while I received treatment and an additional 90 minutes after the treatment ended. Talk about commitment! But my hair was worth it.  

My sister, Sierra, came with me to my first chemotherapy session. As she helped me prepare to use the cooling cap, we quickly realized how hard it was to get my hair wet enough with a spray bottle. The instructions didn’t fully account for my hair density, and after that first attempt, it was clear I would need to create my own process. Sierra suggested I come to future sessions with my hair already wet, and that small adjustment changed everything. 

From that point on, every chemo day followed a routine I built through trial and error. I rinsed my hair, conditioned it, and carefully detangled it—each strand in the sink a reminder that I was fighting breast cancer while trying to hold on to my femininity. I would rock a shower cap to my sessions. My oncology nurses would help me with rewetting my hair before placing the cap on. After hours in the cooling cap, I kept it on for the ride home, then washed and styled my hair once—knowing it would be the only time I would touch it until the next treatment. The website didn’t teach me this. My hair did. 

I endured this process for six months. I spent over 60 hours with that cap on my head. Each week not knowing if it would work.  

Keeping her hair, advocating for others

Initially, I was told due to my hair texture the Paxman scalp cooling cap might not work. However, I would argue my hair texture is the reason scalp cooling worked wonders for me. Because I was able to wash my hair only once a week (directly after my chemotherapy sessions), given my hair texture, I was able to minimize the manipulation to my hair. In addition, I did not shampoo my hair during this time. I did a cleansing technique Black women use called co-washing. By using conditioner to cleanse the hair, I avoided drying the hair more than necessary.  

Throughout this journey, I maintained the majority of my hair. I did have a bit of loss on the edges. As my hairstylist suggested, I had fun with it. I cut my hair into various tapered looks that created the confidence I truly needed.   

I have grieved so much of myself during this process: my breasts, the future ability to breastfeed a child, the possibility of carrying a child, mobility, and energy level. My body changed so much as I gained 30 pounds due to the steroids needed as part of the chemotherapy treatment. But the scalp cooling cap allowed me to keep my hair, which felt like I was holding onto my beauty and femininity in a journey where those two things seemed to be taken.  

While I was fortunate to get the cap, there were many hurdles: the cost, knowing it exists, access at my hospital, and learning how to use it. These hurdles need to be eliminated for all breast cancer patients. This cap needs to be the standard of care. Of course, not all patients will want to spend hours with the cap on their head, but that choice should be theirs to make. There are so many choices we can’t make in a breast cancer journey, but our hair should be one of them.