Showing posts with label CANCER AND WIGS. Show all posts
Showing posts with label CANCER AND WIGS. Show all posts

Thursday, March 29, 2018

How one cancer survivor found her calling through helping style cancer patients

How one cancer survivor found her calling through helping style cancer patients

In the Detroit suburb of Pleasant Ridge, Michigan, next to a diner and across from a park, lies Susan’s Special Needs. Inside you’ll find a wide array of products for women going through cancer or radiation, including wigs in the hundreds, scarves, hats, skincare, swimsuits, mastectomy bras, compression bras and breast forms. An emporium of sorts, the other thing Susan’s offers is a safe space for anyone who feels lost amidst a diagnosis or recovery.
For the store’s founder Susan Thomas, a former oncology nurse and breast cancer survivor herself after a 1992 diagnosis, the store is her calling. She wanted to make sure that no one’s journey and fight through cancer would be like her own.
“My true issue was I wanted the journey to be different for those who followed me,” Thomas said in an interview. “My journey through cancer was very stiff, because there weren’t products and services. There was no one to talk to. The purpose of the store is trying to change the journey because it’s the right thing to do.”
Susan Thomas and her husband, Dave
Susan Thomas and her husband, Dave Courtesy of Susan Thomas
Despite specializing in cancer as a nurse, when she was faced with her own diagnosis, she felt lost. “Not for one moment did I ever ask my patients how they felt about their hair loss, their mastectomy or where they got their products,” she said.
That’s how the idea for Susan’s came to her. She wanted to create a place that offered not only necessary products, but information, expertise and compassion to cancer patients and survivors. She wanted to, in her words, “take care of the people the way I’d want to be taken care of.”
Susan’s Special Needs
Susan’s Special Needs Courtesy of Susan’s Special Needs
In a retail era that hasn’t exactly been kind to physical stores, with retailers like Sears and Macy’s shutting doors across the country, Susan’s — which opened its doors in 2000 — is one of those rare exceptions that has offered services that can only be experienced in-person — for more than 15 years now.
“In retail today, there are plenty of stores that would welcome somebody with a Visa card who needed a wig,” Thomas said. “But from my perspective, the success is going to be only as good as they make it. It’s up to me to set the tone.”
The front of Susan’s Special Needs
The front of Susan’s Special Needs Courtesy of Susan’s Special Needs
Susan’s not only sells wigs, but has someone there to cut the customer’s hair, give a scalp massage and fit them repeatedly until it’s just right. She not only sells mastectomy bras, but has three private fitting rooms where stylists can help find the right bra, breast form or scarf to match the customer’s personality. With a staff of stylists and cosmetologists, someone is always there to give you their full attention.
Her longtime customers can attest.
“I know when I needed my first compression bra, I was sent to the hospital and it was like, ‘O.K., this kind of fits you, it’ll be fine,’” Lynn Cooper, who’s been a Susan’s customer for more than a decade now after breast and lung cancer diagnoses, said in an interview. “It’s a box, you know? They’re salespeople. They don’t know what you’re going through. They just want you to buy the product and get out of their way. At Susan’s it’s an experience.”
One of the fitting rooms in Susan’s Special Needs
One of the fitting rooms in Susan’s Special Needs Susan’s Special Needs
What immediately adds to this sense of comfort upon walking into the store is that it looks nothing like a store that sells wigs and medical supplies. It is styled like a Parisian boutique, with murals of the French countryside painted along the walls.
“We didn’t want it to look medical,” Thomas said. “We did not want it to be obvious that you’re walking past medical supplies. We wanted it to be comforting and warm and inviting. We have a fireplace with an electric fire where husbands can have a sip of coffee while their wives get fitted.”
Susan’s Special Needs
Susan’s Special Needs Courtesy of Susan’s Special Needs
The private rooms, styled to look like salons with plush upholstered seats and tiled wall decor, offer often necessary moments of privacy, as customer Jacqueline Kerr, a high school math teacher who first went to Susan’s in September after a breast cancer diagnosis, experienced herself.
“I had decided to get my hair shaved, and I was very self-conscious,” Kerr said in an interview. “I was able to be alone at that time, and they were very respectful. I was able to find a wig that would match the hair I had at the time, and do it privately.” Kerr goes now back every month to get her wig styled in the store.
What sets Thomas apart from many other people selling the same medical products is the understanding she has of the women — and men sometimes, too — who need her help when it comes to using style and fashion to feel like themselves again.
“I think going through treatment and losing your hair or losing your breast or having reconstruction, it changes you completely,” Thomas, who had to wear mastectomy bras herself in the ’90s, said. “Women see themselves in a certain way, and when that perception changes due to treatment, this store provides the opportunity to restore a healthy perspective of how you look. It gives you the confidence and courage to keep moving forward. I’m just so honored to help them.”
One of the fitting rooms in Susan’s Special Needs
One of the fitting rooms in Susan’s Special Needs Courtesy of Susan’s Special Needs
One of fitting rooms in Susan’s Special Needs
One of fitting rooms in Susan’s Special Needs Courtesy of Susan’s Special Needs
That level of compassion has created a community of people around Pleasant Ridge that see Thomas as their angel, including Cooper.
“There’s the empathy, the compassion — the kindness oozes out of her,” Cooper said. “The knowledge base that she has.... just by holding your hand or touching your arm, comfort goes through your body. If I had a question or just needed to sit, that’s where I went.”
In reality, Thomas often serves as a confidant to her customers, calmly guiding them step by step. Days ago, one woman called Thomas sobbing, and Thomas did what she considers her job.
“She wanted to come in for a wig,” Thomas said. “She worked part-time at Lowe’s. She had no money. Within the first 15 minutes, I had her calmed down because I reassured her that I could help her. I can’t duplicate that. I was able to say, ‘I don’t want you to worry. Whenever you can come in, we will take care of you.’”
If that woman does decide to come in, Thomas and her staff will be ready.

Saturday, October 11, 2014

Living with Cancer: Hiding Under a Wig?

Photo
CreditDan Kitwood/Getty Images
Living With Cancer
LIVING WITH CANCER
Susan Gubar writes about life with ovarian cancer.
http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2014/10/09/living-with-cancer-hiding-under-a-wig/?_php=true&_type=blogs&emc=edit_tnt_20141011&nlid=52389906&tntemail0=y&_r=0

My wig (I named her Sally) was looking worse for wear. I decided to use a trip to visit my grandchildren in Manhattan as an opportunity to get another so-called “cranial prosthesis.” That way I could give Sally a much needed shampoo.
I picked up the phone and made the appointment. Afterward, a strange thing happened. I felt the spirit of the poet-activist Audre Lorde descend on my shoulder. (Are such visitations the reason parents discourage their children from becoming English majors?) In her book, “The Cancer Journals,” Ms. Lorde was voluble in her attack on prostheses, inveighing especially against bra inserts and breast reconstruction. Her objections to cancer patients engaging in any and all forms of camouflaging went well beyond the fact that in her historical moment surgical implants could be dangerous.
Glaring at Sally, Ms. Lorde hissed in my right ear, “Power vs. Prosthesis,” which also happened to be the name of one of her book chapters. By denying the mutilations of cancer treatments, she argued, we become complicit in a culture that refuses to acknowledge its manufacturing and marketing of carcinogenic products. Women, she cautioned, ought not to conform to some ridiculous definition of what constitutes attractive femininity. Like the honorable wounds of war, scars and lopsidedness, a flat chest and hair loss bear witness to the disfigurement resulting from the battle against disease.
If we remain invisible, Ms. Lorde insisted, the population at large will never understand how many people are being destroyed by an epidemic that has taken untold lives and continues to do so decades after her death. We should be directing our energies into working for cancer prevention and cure, not into pretending we are unharmed.
I mulled Ms. Lorde’s heroic message. But what was this odd presence alighting on my other shoulder? An ungainly specter holding a mask murmured in my left ear the words of Voltaire, “Illusion is the first of all pleasures.”
Since cancer patients are robbed of physical stamina and libido as well as a sense of security and of a normal body, why not at least create an illusion of well-being?
And then I imagined the spirit of the playwright Oscar Wilde, patting Sally on the head and confiding why he loved acting. “It is so much more real than life,” he said.
Could it be that a prosthesis is not a lie but a costume that allows us to pass as healthy people? Or perhaps it allows us to experiment with a series of personae that short circuit the pathos produced by thinking of oneself as a victim. When a misshapen, aberrant, or downright ugly body emerges from treatment — if only in one’s own mind’s eye (and what other eyes count?) — there is no need to be tethered to it. What else is artistry for?
Brushing off these spectral voices was not easy as I made my way to New York and then to Bitz-n-Pieces, a salon I had read about in cancer memoirs. The waiting room — all chrome and white — featured a wall of photographs, each inscribed to its founder, Barry Hendrickson. They were a gorgeous crew: Katie Couric, Robin Roberts, Carly Simon, Raquel Welch, Susan Sarandon, Marilyn Horne, Mary Wilson.
An emaciated woman paying the cashier glanced at me and then came over to where I was sitting. “Is this your first time?” she asked. When I nodded, she said, “On my first visit, I loved seeing these glamorous people. Next year, you and I will be up there.” I sort of doubted that, but relished the camaraderie.
Moments later I was ushered into a private booth where a youthful man named Edward asked me what wig style I thought would look best. “An urbane relative of Sally’s,” I thought. He went off and brought back three wigs, and I picked the one that resembled a city mouse to Sally’s country mouse.
I asked Edward if my new wig had a name. “Her name is Tori,” he replied, “But we call her Torian Gray.” English majors rule!
At the end of “The Cancer Journals,” Audre Lorde corrected an earlier declaration that she would “give anything not to have cancer.” She knew that she would not give up her life, her partner, her poetry or her arms. I agree: I would not give up my vision or hearing; I would not give up the health of my children and grandchildren.
Like Audre Lorde, I do not want to deny the mutilations of cancer. And I do want to protest the lack of prevention and cures. So why in the world would I continue to walk around with a synthetic helmet on my head?
Perhaps it’s because I refuse to relinquish my various identities prior to and unrelated to the onset of disease. I do not want to be instantaneously pigeon-holed as a cancer patient in every social situation I encounter. My wigs, Sally and Torian Gray, give me that freedom.
Though I have cancer, it does not have all of me … yet.