Mastectomy may be in the offing for 45-year-old

Actress Shannen Doherty preempts breast cancer hair loss by shaving her head

Shannen Doherty, with pre-cancer
treatments haircut in process.

Suddenly, actress Shannen Doherty is bald.

Temporarily, at least.

She's shaved her head while fighting breast cancer, according to a recent Associated Press story in the Washington Times.

The 45-year-old Doherty posted six black-and-white photos on Instagram that showed her lopping off her locks, preceded by another picture with a caption carrying the phrase #cancersucks.

Her cancer initially was disclosed in a lawsuit filed last year against her ex-business managers.

It alleged that they caused her health to deteriorate while they mismanaged her money. She charged in the suit that her cancer went undetected because she put off going to a doctor when they let her insurance lapse.

Doherty gained fame in a four-year stint as Brenda Walsh on "Beverly Hills 90210" — but even greater notoriety as being someone extremely difficult to work with.

The actress — who maintains she'll probably be unable to have children because of her cancer treatments — has signed to do a television series based on the 1995 Kevin Smith movie, "Mallrats."

She's also said she's prepared to have a mastectomy if other treatments fail.

You can learn about the psychological damage of hair loss in "Rollercoaster: How a man can survive his partner's breast cancer," a VitalityPress book I, Woody Weingarten, aimed at male caregivers.

'Rollercoaster' full of resources, asserts blogger

Zealous writer: 'Rollercoaster' can make cancer diagnosis 'a little bit easier on us all' 

M.J. Joachim

M.J. Joachim is a "very passionate" author and writer from Mesa, Arizona.

A fellow blogger, Philip Verhese Ariel, explains that her passion, in part, has been aimed at "making the world a better place…by raising awareness."

One small step toward that goal, I'm absolutely thrilled to report, occurred when she gave my new VitalityPress book, "Rollercoaster: How a man can survive his partner's breast cancer," a glowing review.

Below, starting with the next paragraph, are excerpts from M.J.'s piece, which was published on Feb. 3, 2015. The full review, of course, is available on her website.

Breast cancer is one of those scary, taboo subjects nobody wants to talk about, despite the fact that millions of people are and have been affected by it. 

It’s personal. Cancer always seems to be so darned personal. 

For decades we’ve danced around the big C word. 

Until now! 

How I wish this book had been around when my father and uncles died of cancer so many years ago! How I wish this book had been around over the years when I had two benign breast biopsies - one at 28, another in my mid 30’s.

Weingarten is the caregiver of his wife Nancy and her breast cancer; years later, he is also the patient with cancer. 

Seems many of us get to deal with the big C more than once in our lives, and in various ways too. 

For all the research, money raised, government programs, medicines and treatments tried, things which Weingarten fully addresses in this book, we still don’t seem to find the answers we need. 

This book doesn’t offer any false hope. Weingarten describes in scrupulous detail the evolution of cancer meds and treatments since the 70’s. It’s an important section in the book, and if I ever do get cancer, you can bet I’ll never opt to take tamoxifen, partly because of what I learned in this book.

All the big C talk aside, Rollercoaster is a love story about a man and a woman dealing with her diagnosis, treatment and side effects (those little things no one really wants to talk about like loss of sex drive, anger and anxiety, relationship challenges, an entire myriad of fears ranging from how to deal with hair loss to night sweats and coping with nightmares, even eating to deal with stress). 

Twenty years later Woody & Nancy are still happily married survivors of the big C that changed and redefined their lives forever. 

“Marin-Man-to-Man is a drop-in, dues-free support group open to any male whose partner has or has had, breast cancer (or another life-threatening disease).” Much of this book makes reference to this excellent resource and support group for male caregivers living in the San Francisco Bay Area, a group Woody himself attends. 

Closing chapters are full of valuable resources and books for both caregivers and cancer sufferers alike. 

If you haven’t personally been touched by cancer yet, you’re lucky. I strongly recommend this book to everyone, because this book has the ability to make the dreaded big C diagnosis a little bit easier on us all.

Thanks so much for taking time to share your story, Woody. I trust and hope many people will be extremely fortunate to read Rollercoaster and benefit from you and your wife’s experience with breast cancer.

Softening the impact of breast cancer chemo

Humorous photos don't appear in 'Rollercoaster' but helped couple deal with hair loss

Rhoda Draws in her studio.

Humor can help patients and caregivers cope.

So can artistic flights of fancy.

At a time when her breast cancer and chemo-induced loss of hair turned my wife, Nancy Fox, into a portrait of cheerlessness, Rhoda Draws, a painter-caricaturist-friend based in Mill Valley, California, superimposed some playfulness on half a dozen photographs.

Nancy couldn't help but smile.

Nor could I.

Nancy, digitally enhanced.

Rhoda, who's also an author and teacher, presented the re-imagined photos (aka digitally enhanced, or cyber-imaged) to Nancy as a gift.

Immediately, my wife for a while stopped mourning the loss of her shoulder length, red hair — what she describes in my new book, "Rollercoaster: How a man can survive his partner's breast cancer," as "the one part of my body that I have loved unconditionally."

None of the distinctive photos accompany my narrative. Not because Nancy doesn't appreciate them 20 years after her diagnosis and treatment, but simply because I, Woody Weingarten, didn't use any illustrations at all in the book.

Nancy used the six re-imagined, often whimsical photos on a one-page flyer she sent to friends and family members who aided her. She added this text: "Thanks for your helping hands…and your loving heart…during all my changes."

The front of our refrigerator is decorated with two of the images — on magnets. They still make us smile, every day.

And cope.

And remember the ups and downs of the past triggered by passages in "Rollercoaster."

Such as:

• "Her dread of going bald had careened off the charts. Just before turning out the lights she recalled that as a girl with braids down to her waist, she'd panicked when her mother demanded she cut them off."

• "I do wish she could consistently see herself as I do, as a beautiful creature with or without hair."

• Sadness about her missing hair — even though that loss was temporary — remained the biggie for Nancy. A year after her final treatment, she wrote in her journal that it 'was clearly the psychologically devastating part of the cancer."

• It had taken more than two years before she could look at images of her baldness…She agreed at last to put the photos of her hairless stage into two albums…[She] triggered my caregiver button: 'You and I will never see it the same way,' I replied sincerely. 'Your high cheekbones and eyes showed off better when there was no hair to look at. The fact is, you're lovely both ways.'"

Two decades after her breast cancer diagnosis, Nancy's loveliness still makes me tremble.

Even though her hair is draped around her shoulders again.