Mum lets her four-year-old daughter cut her hair before it falls out from chemo and jokes she’s a ‘scary hairstylist’

A MUM let her four-year-old daughter cut her hair after it began to fall out as she battled cancer.

Emilie Orton, 32, was recently diagnosed with stage two ovarian cancer, and has been undergoing chemotherapy.

So when the mum-of-three’s hair began to fall out, she decided to enlist the help of a very special stylist.

She recruited her four-year-old daughter, Norah, nicknamed Shugs, to give her the “best haircut ever”.

Emilie told Romper:“Knowing that a beautiful baldness was coming my way terrified me and made me cry on multiple occasions, but I tried to think of the best way to make it bearable for this family of mine.

“Just as it's every woman’s nightmare to lose their hair, it is every kid's dream to cut hair."

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Tomorrow is the day. Tomorrow we start chemo for 4-5 hours in chair number six. Lucky chair number six. The time came way too fast. And there’s no looking back. The port is in. The lungs passed the creepy hilarious nose-plug breathing test. All systems are go. And all day I just keep coming up with dream fantasy scenarios where I don’t end up needing to go after all. It still just doesn’t feel real yet. I wonder when or if it will. It’s such a weird thought to go to a place feeling just fine, where you know it’s going to make you incredibly sick and super insecure bald…but it’s to make sure you hopefully get to keep living your life. The doctor said the drugs he’s doing will definitely make me bald. No matter how many times I asked he said yes. The back of mind keeps secretly hoping to defy all odds… but trying somehow to prepare for my newborn bald baby head… However one might go about doing that. It was weird to fill out the health history questions again this week and now check yes for cancer. We bought some hideous wigs to make us laugh and have been laugh-crying wondering what in the crap we are doing. What is even going on. I guess the only way out of this is through. So here goes nothing.

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Tomorrow is the day. Tomorrow we start chemo for 4-5 hours in chair number six. Lucky chair number six. The time came way too fast. And there’s no looking back. The port is in. The lungs passed the creepy hilarious nose-plug breathing test. All systems are go. And all day I just keep coming up with dream fantasy scenarios where I don’t end up needing to go after all. It still just doesn’t feel real yet. I wonder when or if it will. It’s such a weird thought to go to a place feeling just fine, where you know it’s going to make you incredibly sick and super insecure bald…but it’s to make sure you hopefully get to keep living your life. The doctor said the drugs he’s doing will definitely make me bald. No matter how many times I asked he said yes. The back of mind keeps secretly hoping to defy all odds… but trying somehow to prepare for my newborn bald baby head… However one might go about doing that. It was weird to fill out the health history questions again this week and now check yes for cancer. We bought some hideous wigs to make us laugh and have been laugh-crying wondering what in the crap we are doing. What is even going on. I guess the only way out of this is through. So here goes nothing.

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Emilie, from Arizona, US, has been sharing her cancer journey on her Instagram page, and videoed the haircut.

She wrote: “After I started losing my hair from chemo, I told Shug she could cut my hair however she wanted.

“And she was in heaven, and did a fantastic four year old job. My most favorite and scariest hairstylist I’ve ever had.”

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Today I officially say… I have ovarian cancer stage 2. What the freaking crap. It’s so weird & strange & still doesn’t feel like it’s really me. And I feel weird even writing that out. Cancer? No. How is anyone supposed to actually process this? Or accept this? I’ve always been that boring person on those health history forms that marks no to everything & doesn’t even have allergies. It’s been a strange road getting to this point. Two ER visits, ultrasounds, MRI, a ruptured tumor, & wondering why in the heck I have an alien bump growing inside me. Three weeks ago my left ovary, tube, & that hideous 9 inch tumor were removed & today we got the official verdict that it’s malignant after three weeks of wondering, while they picked it apart. I’m meeting with the chemotherapy doctor on Tues to start the treatment plan for the next 4-6 months of chemo and get a port probably put in. So help me if I lose all my hair, I better rethink my Halloween costume and be Mr. Clean, or Ironman. Im getting a ct scan next week of my full body to see if it has spread into my lymph nodes or if it has gone anywhere else. Because it’s a germ cell tumor and not epithelial, there’s over a 90% chance of recovery. Which is so awesome. But chemo still sucks and I’m so dang nervous and scared and what the crapping. It just doesn’t feel real. I guess out of all the germ cell ovarian tumors, 1% of them are cancerous. A big fat 1. So basically it’s time to take this lucky girl to Vegas on her 1% win. It’s just crazy. Thanks to all those who have shown so much love & kindness from Ubereats, to packages of happiness and things to make me smile, magazines, notes, flowers, to stuffed sewn uteruses, crumbls, & ovary socks. I laughed when my brother walked in the hospital congratulating me on his newest alien nephew w/ baby balloons & a poem. I’ve felt so humbled and loved these past three weeks, but now it sounds like that was only the beginning of this strange, now lifelong journey. I hugged the oncologist to tell her thanks for everything since I’m now moving onto the chemo doctor and she said, ‘Oh girl we’re gonna be meeting for the rest of your life now. Friends forever.’ Crazy.

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Today I officially say… I have ovarian cancer stage 2. What the freaking crap. It’s so weird & strange & still doesn’t feel like it’s really me. And I feel weird even writing that out. Cancer? No. How is anyone supposed to actually process this? Or accept this? I’ve always been that boring person on those health history forms that marks no to everything & doesn’t even have allergies. It’s been a strange road getting to this point. Two ER visits, ultrasounds, MRI, a ruptured tumor, & wondering why in the heck I have an alien bump growing inside me. Three weeks ago my left ovary, tube, & that hideous 9 inch tumor were removed & today we got the official verdict that it’s malignant after three weeks of wondering, while they picked it apart. I’m meeting with the chemotherapy doctor on Tues to start the treatment plan for the next 4-6 months of chemo and get a port probably put in. So help me if I lose all my hair, I better rethink my Halloween costume and be Mr. Clean, or Ironman. Im getting a ct scan next week of my full body to see if it has spread into my lymph nodes or if it has gone anywhere else. Because it’s a germ cell tumor and not epithelial, there’s over a 90% chance of recovery. Which is so awesome. But chemo still sucks and I’m so dang nervous and scared and what the crapping. It just doesn’t feel real. I guess out of all the germ cell ovarian tumors, 1% of them are cancerous. A big fat 1. So basically it’s time to take this lucky girl to Vegas on her 1% win. It’s just crazy. Thanks to all those who have shown so much love & kindness from Ubereats, to packages of happiness and things to make me smile, magazines, notes, flowers, to stuffed sewn uteruses, crumbls, & ovary socks. I laughed when my brother walked in the hospital congratulating me on his newest alien nephew w/ baby balloons & a poem. I’ve felt so humbled and loved these past three weeks, but now it sounds like that was only the beginning of this strange, now lifelong journey. I hugged the oncologist to tell her thanks for everything since I’m now moving onto the chemo doctor and she said, ‘Oh girl we’re gonna be meeting for the rest of your life now. Friends forever.’ Crazy.

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Emilie called the radical trim the ‘fancy cancy’ haircut, and captioned the clip: “I started chemo two weeks ago.

“Today my hair started falling out in creepy clumps.”

As her daughter chopped her blonde locks off, Emilie added humour to the clip by captioning it: “We really put that pre-school cutting to the test.”

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I think it’s time. Day 14 it started and it’s day 16 and my head is so sore it’s hard to sleep and there’s hair eeeeerwhere all up in hurrr. But seriously. It’s creeping me out and making me cry randomly when I think about it and I’m feeling scared to take the plunge. Bald? Please no. But it’s definitely time. What if my head is secretly shaped weird? Like a neglected flat spot (is that even a real thing or just my creepy mom brain?) or what if I have a cone-head because I was a ginormous baby when I came out? Or what if I have creepy giant moles or dents or bumps or lumps? My head hasn’t been this bare since I came into this world 32 years ago. I don’t know what it looks like. What I’ll look like. I know these are superficial worries that don’t matter in the long scheme of it all.. but they’re still real. Cole keeps asking me everyday on the way to school, ‘Mom, please don’t go bald today…please Mom.’ But sadly, it’s time. I secretly hoped I’d be the lucky tiny percentage that doesn’t have this happen on this type of chemo. Dang testicles I guess… I know it’s going to grow back… but gosh it’s not going to come quick. The doctor said to hope for about one inch grown around May. May?! How come that feels way too far away and one inch feels way too small? Im just dreading if it takes my eyebrows and eyelashes too. Can it at least leave my face half normal? Looks like it’s all going to be gone, and it’s starting with the top. How exciting to be a hairless dolphin. Free laser. What a dream come true. Here we go.

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I think it’s time.Day 14 it started and it’s day 16 and my head is so sore it’s hard to sleep and there’s hair eeeeerwhere all up in hurrr. But seriously. It’s creeping me out and making me cry randomly when I think about it and I’m feeling scared to take the plunge. Bald? Please no. But it’s definitely time. What if my head is secretly shaped weird? Like a neglected flat spot (is that even a real thing or just my creepy mom brain?) or what if I have a cone-head because I was a ginormous baby when I came out? Or what if I have creepy giant moles or dents or bumps or lumps? My head hasn’t been this bare since I came into this world 32 years ago. I don’t know what it looks like. What I’ll look like. I know these are superficial worries that don’t matter in the long scheme of it all.. but they’re still real. Cole keeps asking me everyday on the way to school, ‘Mom, please don’t go bald today…please Mom.’ But sadly, it’s time. I secretly hoped I’d be the lucky tiny percentage that doesn’t have this happen on this type of chemo. Dang testicles I guess… I know it’s going to grow back… but gosh it’s not going to come quick. The doctor said to hope for about one inch grown around May. May?! How come that feels way too far away and one inch feels way too small? Im just dreading if it takes my eyebrows and eyelashes too. Can it at least leave my face half normal? Looks like it’s all going to be gone, and it’s starting with the top. How exciting to be a hairless dolphin. Free laser. What a dream come true. Here we go.

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She compared her new look to a ‘Barbie’ haircut, saying it was her “favourite hack job”.

And she added that chemo “really helps assist” the process, adding: “One perk about the chemo is if the hair's too long, you just pull it out!”

Emilie admired her new layers, and told Shug she had done an amazing job.

Mr. Clean was a necessary thing at today’s Halloween chemo treatment. I mean if you gotta be creepy bald on Halloween AND do chemo for half the day…you better make it count, right?! Luckily Hermione and more family came and joined us for lunch and we had the chemo lab to ourselves for a Halloween lunch before my brain turns into sludge by tonight. Not my typical Halloween festivities or things I’d want to be doing…but the old lady laughing that came in and saw me was worth it all. ‘This is a safe bald place’ we joked. A very safe bald Halloween place, indeed.

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She added: “My favourite thing about kids is they love so big and so unconditionally that no matter what you look like, they can’t see anyone but someone they love.”

After the haircut, she got her husband, Nick, to shave her hair properly.

She said: “I laughed to try not to cry.

Holidays on vacation are always the most memorable, and Easter was no different when you’re egg hunting though Hawaiian jungle plants on the back porch. The banyan trees were insane and the kids loved pretend surfing on the boogie boards for hours everyday. Our favorite part of the weekend was snorkeling at kaanaapali with sea turtles.

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“And it was just weird. And sad.

“I didn’t know I had do much bald. Or that my hair was so dark.

“Or that it would feel like this.”

So far Emilie has undergone 52 hours of chemo, as she continued to update her followers online about her progress.

Thousands of people have commented on her posts, admiring her courage.

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Some fall breaks consist of fun trips to the beach or Disneyland… and some fall breaks you get to go to chemo with your mom. Which is not a common type of vacation. But after all the snacks and juice he may reconsider his original feelings about it. I loved having Bud with me today, and he loved the endless cookies and did not love the blood draw. But he sat in the recliner chair with me and we ate tootsie rolls and orange juice for breakfast. I’m so glad he had school off so he could come see me in a place I’ve only ever explained because he’s gone during the time I’m there. Going on 26 hours here now, and my first cycle is considered complete at the end of this week. Baby steps.

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Some fall breaks consist of fun trips to the beach or Disneyland… and some fall breaks you get to go to chemo with your mom. Which is not a common type of vacation. But after all the snacks and juice he may reconsider his original feelings about it. I loved having Bud with me today, and he loved the endless cookies and did not love the blood draw. But he sat in the recliner chair with me and we ate tootsie rolls and orange juice for breakfast. I’m so glad he had school off so he could come see me in a place I’ve only ever explained because he’s gone during the time I’m there. Going on 26 hours here now, and my first cycle is considered complete at the end of this week. Baby steps.

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One person said: "This is just the sweetest video I’ve ever seen."

Another wrote: " I love this. We did the same with my mom when she was going through chemo."

A third commented: " This video made me laugh and cry.

"It is like the first haircut you give a Barbie. You are the best mom ever."

And this mum is scarred for life after tiny scab turns out to be cancer – despite never sunbathing.

While this mum-of-seven, 32, died 24 hours after ‘dream wedding’ following cancer battle.

And one million women are at risk of deadly cervical cancer after ignoring smear test invite.

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