I’m at a crossroads, facing a dilemma that feels huge. Logically, I don’t think it’s that big of a deal, but in my heart, there is something keeping me stuck.

I don’t know if I should shave my head.

These days we have access to amazing technology that can actually help save our hair during chemo. It’s called a cold cap. The cold cap has been around for a while, but now they’ve developed a system that makes the process simpler, more manageable, and more accessible than ever before. The cold cap freezes your scalp, restricting blood flow to the hair follicles while receiving chemotherapy. This decreases the amount of hair-killing medicine that goes to the scalp, thus reducing or eliminating hair loss.

There are just 2 problems: it hurts like hell, and it’s not really working that well for me.

It doesn’t work for everyone. Some people have amazing results with very little to no hair loss, and others quickly abandon the process when they lose more hair than they had hoped.

Despite wearing the cold cap, I’ve still lost a lot of hair.

You might be wondering why this is creating a dilemma for me. Since I’ve been going through chemo, I’ve learned that losing our hair is one of the most traumatic things for most women. That’s pretty surprising, considering all the nasty things we go through. But it’s a fact.

I feel really tied to the cold cap because while the top of my head is pretty bald, I can still wear a hat and have hair hanging out the bottom of it. I can go out in public and never feel like I look different. In that respect it’s working. However, the top of my head is still bald, leaving me with a subpar result. Plus, I’m holding out in hopes that my hair will actually start growing back before I finish chemo in 2 months. It’s another possibility that complicates my decision.

Here’s the problem: wearing the cold cap sucks.

Think about getting brain freeze from eating ice cream too fast. It’s like that, except it’s all over your head, and it lasts for 7 hours. Plus, I don’t even get to eat the ice cream in exchange. It adds 2 hours to each chemo treatment, which in itself is not bad. The 7 hours of freezing my scalp is bad.

And I wonder if the discomfort is worth it.

Because I’m not getting a great result I’m unsure about what to do next. In a way it feels like I’m locked in golden handcuffs. Something keeps me tied to it. I feel trapped, paralyzed to make the decision to either keep going or to quit.

Then I realize, I’m actually afraid to face losing all of my hair– even though I’m already a little bald.

Logically, I don’t know what I’m afraid of. Logically it doesn’t seem like that big of a deal. Emotionally it represents yet another loss I have to experience, and I find myself clinging to that.

It reminds me of how we often feel about our dental careers. Just like the cold cap creates pain for me, so did my “successful” dental career. Even though they are both painful, they both help me maintain a sense of control and the comfort of the status quo. Or maybe they help me maintain the illusion of control and comfort. Either way, they both offer a perk.

The problem occurs when the perk isn’t as great as you thought it would be.

Whether it’s realizing you’re not making enough money in dentistry or you’re not as happy as you thought you’d be, or you’re not keeping your hair the way you had hoped, do the perks outweigh the suffering?

This is when we must decide whether the perks are worth enduring the discomfort.

In dentistry the perks of stability, money, and respect did not outweigh the pain that dentistry was causing me. It took a lot of suffering before I realized that. I don’t want to do that again.

Today I question whether the perks of keeping 50% of my hair is worth enduring the pain of the cold cap.

I have moments of clarity, where I know there is no reason to hold on to my hair. It’s only temporary after all. Then the fear of the unknown creeps back in, and I convince myself to keep enduring the pain, hoping it will all be worth it. This leaves me in a state of limbo, possibly even a state of more dis-ease than if I would commit to a path.

I used to do the same thing with my dental career.

You’d think it would be easier to make tough decisions after conquering it one time, but it’s not.

I’ve spent weeks questioning this, and today I write it down. Actually, by the time you are reading this, it’s been days since I first wrote the draft of this post. As with many of the dilemmas I face, just sharing my thoughts with you instantly lowered my anxiety around my fear.

Do I have a decision yet? I don’t. But suddenly I don’t feel like I need to choose right away. Just expressing the fear of yet another loss has allowed me to let go of that fear a little bit more, and I feel more at peace about it.

Unlike the decision to change careers, this decision really holds less impact. It’s temporary. It’s short-term. But what they share in common is the fear that keeps us stuck. Living in limbo doesn’t give us any more security than taking a leap actually has the potential to give.

This time I can use what I learned the first time around to help myself make decisions.

I don’t tend to make rash decisions. In fact, I have a history of staying loyal to a process for longer than many others would. When I found myself stuck in my career, I made sure I did everything I could to decide whether leaving was the right thing or not. I tested out different practices, I took some of the best CE available, and I worked with a career coach to help me make a last ditch effort to make dentistry work. I didn’t walk away on a whim. I made sure it was right for me before I did it.

That is why I can feel confident about that decision.

This time I’m doing the same thing. Before simply quitting, I’ve researched tips on how to have better results, spoken to women who have had similar results, and I’ve had numerous conversations with my cold cap consultant. I’ve learned what I should look out for to measure the success of this therapy. Even though I haven’t made a final decision yet, I’ve decided to take it one day at a time. I can be sure I’ll give it my all before I throw in the towel.

While fear doesn’t always go away when making tough decisions, my greatest hope is to not let it be the dictator of our choices.