Bracing for Battle with a Wig and a Prayer

 

By Tracy Cunningham, Vice President and Account Director, AbelsonTaylor

 

Whatever you might think you know about cancer, you’ll discover a huge knowledge gap when you receive a cancer diagnosis yourself. No matter how many oncology products you’ve helped launch, how much research you’ve read, how many physicians and patients you’ve spoken with, you’ll still be hit by the unknown and unexpected. That was my experience when I was diagnosed with breast cancer in May 2005.

I was 33 then, less than two years into my marriage and building a career I loved at AbelsonTaylor. I was stunned by the diagnosis. I didn’t fit the risk profile for breast cancer, I took care of myself, I was in my physical prime. How was it possible?

Suddenly, my life was centered around doctor’s appointments, blood work, scans and research. I spent vast amounts of time mentally coordinating all the steps I needed to take, who I would interact with at each one, and what kinds of decisions I would have to make based on the data and options available to me at each stage. The “patient journey” became my daily reality and any blips in the road – a delay getting an appointment, a change in schedule, a staff member who seemed a little brusque – had a disproportionate effect on my psyche. I also had to battle with my insurance company for coverage of a doctor-ordered MRI to confirm the cancer wasn’t in both breasts. Ridding myself of cancer dominated my life.

My tumor was very aggressive, so my oncologist recommended chemotherapy, surgery, radiation, and trastuzumab. I was fortunate and in December 2006 was declared cancer-free. But along the way, something happened that shifted my focus away from all the medical details I’d immersed myself in and opened my eyes to the emotional side of successfully battling cancer: I lost my hair and didn’t recognize the woman in the mirror.

It’s well-known that hair loss is common with chemotherapy, but I hadn’t given it much thought. I was fighting for my life and baldness was just temporary collateral damage, right? I wasn’t prepared for how devastating it would be to lose my long red hair, something that had defined me since childhood. I felt frighteningly vulnerable and couldn’t imagine commuting to work each day with people averting their eyes or giving me looks of pity. I needed to feel like “me” to beat my cancer.

An organization offered to provide me with a wig, but when I saw the haphazard display and limited selection, my heart sank. None was styled for a younger woman and none looked real enough to be my own hair. Some women battling cancer look bold and confident in hats, scarves or just sporting their own bare skulls. But that wasn’t me. I needed hair. Realistic looking hair. So I could pass for “normal” in my daily life and not telegraph to the world that I had cancer.
Many people came to my aid, including my husband and his colleagues, family and friends, and members of my parents’ church in Michigan. Together, they raised the money for me to buy a top-quality wig that could be customized by fit, color and style to look like my own hair. I felt stronger and positive when I wore it, and it passed the work-commute test, i.e., no one stared at my head or gave me pitying glances. Looking my best gave me resolution and I knew then that someday I would repay the kindnesses I’d been shown and help other women who’d lost their hair during cancer treatment.

Fast forward to today, and I’m about to launch a foundation called Wig and a Prayer, which will provide financial assistance and coordinate with a variety of specialty hair salons to help women who’ve lost their hair receive a quality wig and an expert fitting, cut and styling. Many insurance companies now cover wigs for oncology patients, but the allowance is rarely enough to pay for a truly good wig. Wig and a Prayer will help bridge that financial gap and connect recipients with salons that specialize in wig selection and styling. My goal is to boost the courage and confidence of women battling cancer and help them feel the same sense of empowerment that I felt when I got my own wig.

So why did it take so long to start my foundation? The short answer is that life happened, including the births of two wonderful sons. But the nudge that set me in motion came at work a year or so ago, when AbelsonTaylor sponsored a workshop to inspire employees to realize a personal dream they’d thought about but never acted on. I began fleshing out the idea of my foundation and ended up moving it from concept to the edge of reality.

My co-workers have been incredibly supportive, both in spurring me to action and in helping me prepare for launch. This past April, the agency held a 25-person hackathon to map out key creative elements for the launch, including a logo and color palette, website, brochure and video. We’re refining and finalizing the elements now and I’m on track to launch Wig and a Prayer by the end of the year, first in the Chicago area, then, hopefully, expanding into other regions of the country.

AbelsonTaylor will be the foundation’s first corporate donor, but I should note that Wig and a Prayer is my personal venture and I welcome contributions from all interested people, whether at the individual or corporate level. For more information, please email me at [email protected].

The medical side of cancer care, the part that deals with life and death, is steadily progressing. But the emotional side, dealing with hope and perseverance, needs help. Through the kindness and generosity of others, I was able to buy a beautiful wig that made me feel emotionally strong, brave and confident while facing the uncertainties of my cancer journey. I hope many women will experience the same sense of spiritual empowerment through Wig and a Prayer.