A good wig made me feel less like a cancer patient – so I started a fundraiser

A subtle tingle followed by a tenderness when I touched my scalp told me it was time.

I knew what was coming and had been dreading it since my first chemotherapy session about 20 days ago.

I went to the bathroom, grabbed my hairbrush and ran it through my brown shoulder-length hair. I’ve never been blessed with amazing curls straight out of a salon, but suddenly seeing what I had, being pulled out of my head and filling the brush so easily was devastating.

Although I had been diagnosed with breast cancer weeks earlier and had already undergone two very tough chemotherapy treatments, I really felt like a cancer patient at the time.

The reality of my situation hit me hard and fast as the sink filled with cotton candy hair. Sobbing, I called out to my husband, Edward, who hurried to comfort me.

I knew all along that I would lose my hair because of the type of chemotherapy I was receiving (epirubicin and cyclophosphamide), and in anticipation of that surreal reality I was custom made for a custom human hair wig, but I wouldn’t be ready are for another five weeks.

What should I do in the meantime? No one at the school gate remembered my predicament and I didn’t have a decent wig on hand (the purple wig I bought for a costume party a while back wouldn’t cut the mustard) and I don’t want to spend a fortune now, buy a temporary wig after paying so much to have it custom made (mine cost a whopping £2,000).

Fortunately, since I was diagnosed in the winter, it was still cold enough to get away with wool caps and beanies. “But how long?” I wondered.

It may sound like a cliché, but I never thought I would be diagnosed with cancer. I was 45 and felt 25. There is no family history of breast cancer, and while I wasn’t the world’s most prolific vegetable eater, I certainly didn’t consider myself unhealthy.

I probably consumed about 20 units of alcohol a week and didn’t smoke. So when I came across a small and cartilaginous lump in my lower breast, I was thrown.

I was lying aimlessly on my bed scrolling through social media in late January 2022, when a very sudden stab made me reach for the lower part of my chest. It was a feeling I had never experienced before, and it was so close to the bra line and rib that I couldn’t even tell if it was breast meat or the rib itself.

When I started feeling it again the next day and couldn’t find it, I left it thinking it was most likely hormonal.

However, my body did not stand still and exactly one week later the same sting appeared. My cartilaginous intruder was back, and this time I was scared.

I was the only person in the house awake and I cried softly in the darkness of the kitchen. That was nothing. That was a breast lump, and breast lumps were scary. I had to face everything that was behind the door and I just didn’t want to, even though I knew I had to. I had to be an adult.

I am lucky enough to have private health insurance through my work and the next day I was examined by a breast consultant. I was surprised to get an appointment so quickly but very grateful.

After speaking to the breast consultant, he physically examined me and told me that he could feel two small areas but thought they were probably benign. They didn’t seem to move in a way typical of cancerous nodules. There is a “screening score” that doctors use as follows: P1 – Normal, P2 – Benign, P3 – Uncertain/Probably Benign, P4 – Suspected Malignancy, P5 – Malignant – The P stands for physical.

I was instructed to have a mammogram and an ultrasound to be sure, which I gladly did. It wasn’t until I was again asked for a second mammogram that everything changed. Something in the air felt different.

My mind wandered down the rabbit hole of fear and as I lay in the dark echo chamber I burst into tears. The ultrasound was followed by two biopsies and I was a complete wreck when I went back upstairs to meet the breast consultant again.

What they saw in the photos “looked suspicious,” he told me.

That moment was the worst for me. Not the actual diagnosis, just four days later. I had gone from nothing to 100 in three hours and was prepared for nothing.

You never really believe it will be you, and even the suggestion that it could be cancer made me reel. It’s one of the worst things imaginable.

When my hair started to let go, reality hit me hard.

I was ashamed to lose my hair. I felt like a victim at first. At first I couldn’t bear the words “I have cancer”. I’d be paranoid if a gust of wind lifted something I had on my head.

When I had my real wig put on a few days before my birthday, it felt wonderful. It felt safe and secure and telling everyone about my diagnosis would now be on my terms.

For me, having hair on my head every day during my chemotherapy meant everything. I didn’t look like a cancer patient when I looked in the mirror. No one knew at any point unless I told them I was undergoing cancer treatment.

For many women diagnosed with breast cancer, the only visible sign of their disease is when they lose their hair, and so others may unknowingly treat them differently. I didn’t want that to happen to me.

While I was lucky enough to have an expensive wig glued to my head, I knew others couldn’t afford the luxury. I wanted a way to get decent and realistic wigs for these people at a fraction of the cost.

That’s why I started Wig Bank London, a wig recycling service that can offer the highest quality recycled wigs at deeply discounted prices to others who might not otherwise be able to afford them.

I have sold several wigs since July 2022 and the reactions are very positive. The ladies who donated their wig after treatment feel great that they can do something good for someone undergoing cancer treatment.

I had forwarded wig donation cards thanking them for doing something positive with their old wig, because holding on is bittersweet sometimes.

“It’s such a great service you’re offering. I would like to express my sincere appreciation. I’ve had chemotherapy before and having a wig is such a boost,” one lady told me. I felt such a warm glow because I knew I was helping in a small way.

I will donate my own wig in time. I’m still in the very short growth phase so I’m still wearing mine.

Fortunately, I have now completed my cancer treatment. My postoperative results showed that the chemotherapy had eradicated all invasive cancer and my lymph nodes were clear.

I feel happy – despite being diagnosed with cancer – and want to help others in the same situation.

I’m glad to be a small part of a larger community of wonderful people helping cancer patients navigate their journey.