head strong; Facing cancer is hard enough without worrying about your hair.

Byline: Susan P. Halpern

When I was eight, I had hair down to my waist. Each morning before I left for school, my mother would plait it carefully into French braids. Matching grosgrain ribbons cut on the bias (so as not to fray) were tied at the ends. And I set out for fourth grade, at John Ross Robertson Public School in northern Toronto, my crowning glory shining in the sunlight.

It was not in my life plan to be bald. But then, when I was in my 50s, I got cancer. Several years after the initial lymphoma diagnosis, I needed to have chemotherapy, a treatment regimen that would cause my hair to fall out. I began to think about whether to wear a wig, a ...