Losing hair with laughter and tears

Losing your hair can be almost as devastating as losing your breasts. I'm three years out of treatment and my hair is finally at a length that I like. Being bald wasn't so bad but rather growing it out was tough.

I never had a hair shaving party or took pictures when it was getting shaved. I did have a loving purple hair lady share many stories with me, cracked many jokes, showed me many pictures and gave me a large hug when it was all over. I cried days prior to having it done because seeing the clumps of hair falling was so devastating. No tears for me that day I had it shaved. My mom did but it was short lived. I guess it helps when you have a loving purple hair lady smiling at you.


HEALTH
Losing hair with laughter and tears
Bonnie Friedman helps chemo patients face losing hair with a sense of humor.
By Andrea Ball

AMERICAN-STATESMAN STAFF

Wednesday, July 01, 2009

Bonnie Friedman wraps her bejeweled fingers around buzzing, zebra-patterned electric clippers and shaves Donna Johnson's hair to the scalp.

"Is that part too wide?" she says with mock innocence.

Johnson laughs, swallows nervously and tries not to cry.

"Leave it to Bonnie," Johnson says, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. "I knew you'd make this fun, at least."

This might be one of the hardest days in Johnson's life. The 52-year-old Austin woman, who is about to embark on a grueling six months of chemotherapy, is here to have her hair shaved off before the breast cancer treatment takes it.

Anyone can shave a cancer patient bald, but admirers say thatFriedman — a stylist at Pat Painter's Wigs and Hairpieces in North Austin — approaches the job with a rarely seen passion that keeps her clients laughing instead of crying.

"She is almost an Austin institution," said Dr. Beth Hellerstedt, a local oncologist. "Bonnie does an amazing job of providing comfort to patients at the most difficult time."

For 12 years, Friedman, a self-professed "hypochondriac Jew from Miami" who staunchly refuses to reveal her age, has been hosting shaving parties for women undergoing chemo. Just the sight of her violet and white hair, dagger-long nails and rings on every finger is enough to make her clients crack a smile.
She cuts their hair and fits them for wigs. She has given women mohawks, and she's let their relatives shave them. She gives them funny buttons and pink cancer bracelets. She entertains them with off-color jokes that can't be repeated in polite company, much less this newspaper.

"The thing about Bonnie is she is full of energy," said Runi Limary,director of young survivor services at the Breast Cancer Resource Centers of Texas. "She really brings light and humor to the experience in a very compassionate way."

Cancer has always been in Friedman's life. Her mother died of the disease, as did her two aunts. Three cousins and her brother were also diagnosed, but they caught it early enough to beat it. In 1991 — two years after she left Miami to live near her brother in Austin — Friedman had a double mastectomy to prevent any chance of the disease. She later had a hysterectomy for the same reason.

So when Friedman went to work at Pat Painter's in 1997, she helped market the shop as the prime place for cancer patients to go. And when the clients came, Friedman saw them for what they were: scared women terrified of going bald.

"This is the worst time of their lives when they get their head shaved," Friedman said. "They can take the chemo and they can take the cancer. But shaving their hair is the worst."

Amy Huff, 35, was horrified at the thought of losing her hair when she had breast cancer in 2006. She didn't want people looking at her, pitying her, knowing she was sick. But when her dark locks started falling out, she knew it was time to see Friedman.

"Bonnie's there telling you look gorgeous and making you laugh," Huff said. "Given how much I was dreading it, she made it a lot better."

Last week, Donna Johnson, who was diagnosed with breast cancer in April, walked into
Pat Painter's to shave her hair off. More than two dozen friends and relatives joined her to eat, drink, take pictures and cheer her on.

Draping Johnson in a zebra-print smock, Friedman wrapped a bit of hair in a small rubber band and performed the first ceremonial snip.

Then she pressed the clippers against Johnson's head. Chestnut-colored locks drifted to the floor. Friends cheered. Then Friedman shaped the hair into a mohawk.

"I want you to see the side view!" Friedman said. "The side view is hot."
Soon, it was time to shave the rest off.

"Say goodbye!" Friedman said.

As the remaining hair floated to the floor, Friedman unleashed a string of one-liners for the shell-shocked Johnson.
Now you're a Hare Krishna!

Those eyes your mother always said she had in the back of her head — there they are!
Johnson laughed and dabbed her eyes as her friends cheered.

The hard part was over.

For more than two hours, Friedman pulled and stretched stylishly chic wigs on Johnson's head. Like old friends, they bickered over how the hair should look.

By the end of the night, Johnson was laughing without a hint of tears, walking a pretend red carpet and modeling multiple wigs for her friends. What could have been a horrible event, she said, had become something positive.

"Bonnie made it great," Johnson said. "I don't think I could have done it with without her."

aball@statesman.com; 912-2506