Hope in a wig shop

As I sit here in my wig shop and gaze up at a decorative sign that says, Angels Gather Here, I can feel Louisa watching over me. Tears of joy and sadness fill my eyes. Louisa was my best friend, and I know now she is my own guardian angel.

Losing a friend to cancer
Louisa died of breast cancer 14 years ago. She was only 40. I will never get over the helplessness I felt when she was ill. I couldn't help her, but I know Louisa is up there, helping me. I know that the gentle yet feisty spirit that I so adored has given me the inspiration and fortitude to assist others living with that terrible disease, breast cancer.I'm sure Louisa nudged me toward launching my wig business, Truly You Wigs and Hair Replacement in Mississauga, Ont., more than 10 years ago, when I was 36. Most of my clients have lost their hair as a result of chemotherapy. But when Louisa was sick, the words breast cancer simply weren't part of my vocabulary. I knew nothing about the disease and even less about how to help someone with it. But now, every day, I work with women who are battling cancer, just like Louisa did. And every day, when I look into the wounded, angry eyes of these women, I see Louisa.

The last time I saw her, my husband and I had brought Chinese food to her hospital room. She was weak and kept dozing off. Then she slowly opened her eyes and looked at me as if she were going to say something. But she didn't. Her eyes were deep pools of everything left unsaid. The fatigue overtook her and she closed her eyes. That last look is forever imprinted in my mind's eye. Oh, how I wish I had been the one to say something; to tell her how much I loved her, how I would be there for her kids and what a great mother she is.

Discovering women's needs
As heart-wrenching as that experience was, it laid the groundwork for my calling and prepared me for what was to come. Soon after Louisa died, my mother, Anna, was diagnosed with breast cancer. When Mom's hair started to fall out, she wanted a wig. I took her to places in Toronto but was appalled at the degrading experience. It seemed no one had any idea how to deal with women who had lost their hair to chemotherapy. At one store, my mom sat on a chair in the middle of an aisle with a handheld mirror while I shielded her with my coat so that shoppers couldn't gawk at her. Mom was terribly uncomfortable, but we ended up buying a wig, and to her credit, she wore it so that she would feel better facing her family –- especially her grandchildren.

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Then, unbelievably, my sister-in-law, whose name is also Anna, was diagnosed with colon cancer. I quit my job selling real estate to help care for both her and my mom. One day when I was sitting with Anna in the oncology unit, surrounded by bald women wearing bandannas, I asked the nurses where they refer these ladies to get wigs. They told me they wished there was a good place that they could recommend in our area, west of Toronto, but there wasn't. There was the occasional hair salon and department store that sold wigs, but they offered little privacy. My sister-in-law looked at me and said, “Why don't you start a business doing that?” I remember staring at her, speechless, but the seed was planted. I pictured myself helping women put on wigs and a warm feeling came over me. I knew it would be a good fit. I had the practical skills and the drive to help make the cancer journey a little bit easier for women.

Learning to make a difference
That was in the spring of 1993. I set things in motion right away. I found a couple of wig suppliers and took some workshops to learn about fitting and styling, talking to clients and the effects of chemotherapy –- everything I could. I set up shop in my den, with some comfy furniture, a mirror and stands to display the wigs. My first client was the niece of a woman I knew. Maria was diagnosed with breast cancer just after the birth of her child. She told me she wanted to leave beautiful memories for her daughter but was skeptical whether I could help; she was afraid a wig would look artificial. But we sat down and went through the catalogue together and I got four wigs for her to try. When Maria put on that first one –- shoulder-length, dark and curly, just like her original hair – and looked in the mirror, all her fears melted away. She looked at me and said, “I can do this.”

I knew then, too, that I could do this. I could make this business work. I could make a difference in these women's lives. Until Maria had said those words, I was frightened that I might say the wrong thing or make some kind of mistake. But then I was filled with exhilaration at bringing some dignity back into Maria's life.

A business that cares
My current shop has three private consulting rooms and four staff. Everything about it is comfortable and homelike. The pink stucco building is landscaped with flowers, a little lawn and benches. There are pink curtains in the windows and white wicker furniture with floral cushions. As soon as a client walks in, she is greeted by our two tweeting budgies, Angel and Harmony. We have lots of angel knick-knacks, pictures and paintings, too, and we play soothing music.

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We meet with about six clients a day, six days a week. Women come in feeling anxious and uneasy. After all, I am a stranger. I never outwardly ask about their illness. I talk to them warmly and gently. I might put my hand on their shoulder to give them a sense of connection, and soon enough, they open up. I just pull up a chair and listen. I empathize, but I never tell them I know what they are going through, because I don't. Sometimes I share my stories about my mom and my sister-in-law, who have both gone on to a full recovery, and that gives them hope. Then we have a good cry together.

Some clients bring laughter into our lives. Joanne was like that. She had been diagnosed with breast cancer, and we fitted her for a wig with dark, curly hair just like her own. But she came back to us for a change. She said, “If I have to do this for a long time, I'm going to have some fun with it.” So she got herself a red-haired, straight wig, and she loved it. She would often pop in to the shop just to talk, wearing that red wig. She was a bundle of energy, and her upbeat attitude always put a smile on the faces of the other clients in the shop. Sadly, Joanne passed away a few months ago. Finding life's beauty amidst hardship
People often ask me how I can do this kind of work, how I can deal with sadness and disease on a regular basis. But I don't see it that way. I just see women who need my help. I see Louisa. And I see the opportunity to do the things I never did for Louisa because at that time, I didn't know what to do. I'm not here just passing through this planet. I'm here to help people. So I put myself in my clients' shoes and think about the kind of treatment I'd want, and that's what I try to provide for them.

The pain and heartache these women go through, the thought of them leaving their loved ones, especially their innocent children –- it humbles me. My job has brought out all the good in me. I now concentrate on being a good mom, a good friend, putting love in people's hearts and approaching life with empathy and patience. I want to leave beautiful memories for my children. I want to be remembered not only as a mom who gave herself to her family but also to the women who needed her. I hope they learn, as I have, that life is about the people around you.

Life is fragile. At any time, our whole existence can change. The world can be cruel, but at the same time, there is goodness. Some wonderful people have been taken –- that's the ugliness. But out of that comes a humanity and beauty for those who care and make that transition easier. This business has taught me to see more of that beauty. There really are guardian angels waiting to give us love and assistance throughout this journey -– just like Louisa.

Feeling inspired? Read about donating hair to make wigs for kids with cancer.

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