My name is Leah Eidson, and in 2019 I was diagnosed with breast cancer after what I thought would be a routine mammogram. Like so many others, I never imagined I’d hear those words. Suddenly, my life was divided into “before” and “after.”
I was treated at Bon Secours Saint Francis in Midlothian, Virginia, where I became their very first patient to use the Paxman Scalp Cooling system. I learned about scalp cooling through a friend who encouraged me to Google “cold caps.” My husband and I started researching, and at first what we found involved dry ice and complicated logistics. Then my surgeon mentioned that my treatment center was in the process of installing a system. Two weeks later, I walked in as their very first patient to use it.
Like anyone about to begin chemotherapy, I was anxious. I practiced with the cooling cap at home, with my husband and sister helping me fit it properly. Still, the unknowns of chemotherapy loomed large. My worry was about whether I could tolerate the chemo, how my body would react, and what the journey ahead would bring.
On that first day, I discovered that the hardest part of scalp cooling was the first 15 minutes. It was colder than I expected, but with my sister talking my ear off nonstop, I got through it. After that, the cold became manageable. I knew what I was working toward, and that gave me strength.
Throughout treatment I lost about 45–50% of my hair, but the loss was spread pretty evenly. I didn’t experience bald spots or crown balding. To the outside world, I still looked like me. Strangers at the grocery store had no idea what I was going through. Even colleagues who knew I was in treatment said, “I thought you were going through chemotherapy? How come you still have your hair?”
That privacy was priceless. It meant I didn’t have to explain myself to anyone unless I wanted to. It meant my four sons could still see their mom looking like herself. It meant that when I looked in the mirror, I still recognized the person staring back. Holding on to that part of my identity gave me strength to face the days when I didn’t feel 100%.
My treatment was made possible through donations; I hope you will recommend reporting of HB90 so that other patients can have an experience like I did, regardless of fundraising outcomes but as a function of their health insurance. Thank you for your attention.
My name is Leah Eidson, and in 2019 I was diagnosed with breast cancer after what I thought would be a routine mammogram. Like so many others, I never imagined I’d hear those words. Suddenly, my life was divided into “before” and “after.” I was treated at Bon Secours Saint Francis in Midlothian, Virginia, where I became their very first patient to use the Paxman Scalp Cooling system. I learned about scalp cooling through a friend who encouraged me to Google “cold caps.” My husband and I started researching, and at first what we found involved dry ice and complicated logistics. Then my surgeon mentioned that my treatment center was in the process of installing a system. Two weeks later, I walked in as their very first patient to use it. Like anyone about to begin chemotherapy, I was anxious. I practiced with the cooling cap at home, with my husband and sister helping me fit it properly. Still, the unknowns of chemotherapy loomed large. My worry was about whether I could tolerate the chemo, how my body would react, and what the journey ahead would bring. On that first day, I discovered that the hardest part of scalp cooling was the first 15 minutes. It was colder than I expected, but with my sister talking my ear off nonstop, I got through it. After that, the cold became manageable. I knew what I was working toward, and that gave me strength. Throughout treatment I lost about 45–50% of my hair, but the loss was spread pretty evenly. I didn’t experience bald spots or crown balding. To the outside world, I still looked like me. Strangers at the grocery store had no idea what I was going through. Even colleagues who knew I was in treatment said, “I thought you were going through chemotherapy? How come you still have your hair?” That privacy was priceless. It meant I didn’t have to explain myself to anyone unless I wanted to. It meant my four sons could still see their mom looking like herself. It meant that when I looked in the mirror, I still recognized the person staring back. Holding on to that part of my identity gave me strength to face the days when I didn’t feel 100%. My treatment was made possible through donations; I hope you will recommend reporting of HB90 so that other patients can have an experience like I did, regardless of fundraising outcomes but as a function of their health insurance. Thank you for your attention.