In two months I’ve lost all my hair and I wouldn’t change a thing
KATIE Hale is a healthy 23-year-old living in Sydney. Two months ago her hair suddenly started falling out. Now, there’s not a hair on her head.
OVER the past two months, I have lost all my hair.
I’m a healthy, 23-year-old living in Sydney. I work a job I absolutely adore, I’m surrounded by even greater friends and family. I have nothing to complain about.
But losing my hair absolutely broke me.
Alopecia is an auto-immune disease. Essentially, instead of protecting your hair, your body recognises it as being foreign — and your immune system starts attacking and killing it off, like it would a virus.
In April this year, I noticed a small bald spot about the size of a 10 cent coin at the back of my head, on the right side. It absolutely puzzled me — I’d never noticed it before, and truth be told I actually thought it was quite funny — purely because I had no idea how I got it.
In August, I noticed it starting to get bigger. Then, another spot appeared just next to it. Both became substantially bigger, and between booking an appointment with the doctor and actually getting to his office I already had another two spots on the top of my head. I was given an ‘urgent’ referral to a dermatologist to get steroid injections, to try to halt the hair loss and promote regrowth.
Urgent is a funny word. An ‘urgent’ appointment at a specialist, for me, translated into a minimum six week wait. I reiterate: urgent.
By September 1, those four spots had each grown to the size of a 20 cent coin.
Eight days later, I had lost half the hair on my head.
It was one of the most stressful weeks of my life. It was literally falling out in handfuls. Every shower, every time I brushed or even touched my hair — I ended up curled up in a ball uncontrollably sobbing. I was losing so much hair in one hit, that I couldn’t fit it all in my hands. And it was starting to become noticeable. I couldn’t wear my hair out, and even pulling it back would leave me exposed.
When I was still trying to hide the condition, I only told a few people what I was going through — a very close friend at work, my best mate, and my parents.
Stress is a major trigger for alopecia, so it is kind of ironic that you’re trying to decrease stress to stop your hair falling out — but the more that falls out, the more stressed you become. You stress about people finding out. You stress about what they will say about you, when they do find out. Then you stress about the unknown — how much will fall out? When will it stop? Will it ever come back?
So I made the decision to take control. I could let the disease control me, or I could take a stand — and shave it. So that’s what I did. I shaved it. It can’t fall out if it’s not there, right?
That day was a funny one. I cried the entire way to the hairdresser. One of my best friends came with me, and I cried the entire way through the appointment. I cried, she cried — the hairdresser even ended up crying. How do you say goodbye to something that is so part of your identity? It was a giant ridiculous tear fest. Laughable.
But the smile then broke through — I wasn’t hiding it anymore. It was out in the open, for the whole wide world to see. And I was owning it.
Last week was my first specialist appointment. I’ll be honest, it didn’t go as well as I had hoped. Now that I’ve lost all my hair, I have to go through immunotherapy. The process involves a treatment applied to my scalp to trigger an allergic reaction, which will then develop into eczema. Every week, I have to get more put on and the dosage increased to make the reaction, and eczema worse.
The hope is that by creating a new condition, my immune system will stop attacking me — and redivert to start attacking the eczema. As my specialist explained it, they’re playing a trick on my immune system.
It only has a 30 per cent chance of working.
Depending on the results of that, we go to immunosuppressants and steroids to start stimulating hair regrowth and restricting my immune response.
Although there is still some chance, the specialist made it extremely clear there is a very good chance I won’t get my hair back.
It’s not exactly easy news to take, but hey. There are some really cool head scarfs that I’ve managed to find!
I made the decision to put a photo and explanation on Facebook. It meant that I could get it out there, and that everyone got the same information in one easy swoop. It meant less awkward conversations, questions and tears when I saw everyone.
I’ll be completely honest — I wasn’t expecting the reaction I received. The love, and messages of support from everybody was overwhelming. And I couldn’t have gotten through this without my friends and family being there every step of the way.
Then it came to work. I was in tears purely at the thought of turning up. What would people say? What would they think?
I was quickly reminded I work with some of the most supportive, lovely and caring people — who showed me they had my back when I most needed it.
Don’t get me wrong — there have been some moments. Kids staring as you walk through the shops — asking the awkward questions, just a metre away. One person slapped his arm, and asked how my ‘treatment’ was going. The best was a lady at the local shops, who chased me all the way down to my car just see if my illness was the same as hers. She then told me I would never get better.
Over the past month, I have realised how strong I am; how strong I have become. I have learnt so much about myself. I’ve discovered who I am, and what I’m capable of. Yes it’s still tough — but each day is getting easier.
It’s been an incredibly difficult process, but one I wouldn’t change. I’ve learnt to accept and love myself in a true way.
Most importantly — I’ve learnt that in the end, looks don’t actually matter as much as we think they do. If you’re confident in who you are, and what you’re doing — that will outshine the materialistic things.
The fear is in the unknown. If you learn to accept it, and embrace it, it’s a lot easier to be yourself — and be happy.
