Cancer has been portrayed in many ways in various media, film, tv drama, soaps.
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The Big C, Chasing Life, 50 / 50, the C Word, Coronation Street, and recently Cold Feet.
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For the most part it’s pretty accurate. Sometimes too accurate for me to actually watch. It’s hard for me to separate fiction from reality on occasion. I don’t mean the actual storyline obviously, but more the individual journey.
It’s not easy to watch someone else receive a diagnosis, to see someone else’s chemotherapy treatment, to watch them puking their guts up, being in pain like no other. And, notwithstanding it’s temporary nature, witnessing someone loose their hair. It sends my mind back to my own experience, something I have tried to bury.
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I know it’s sounds ridiculous but for me losing my hair was THE side effect that hit me the most. And I didn’t even lose it all.
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Imagine shaving. Man or woman. Shaving and then rinsing off the hair. It’s quite a feeling so see all that hair flow down the plug hole revealing smooth silky legs or, for some, a lovely smooth face.
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Unfortunately that feeling is not replicated when it’s the hair on your head, especially for a woman whose identity is enshrined by her hairstyle. I may lust after Vin Diesel but I do not want to look like him.Â
FIRST TIME TRAUMA
That first time you wash your hair and your rinsing out the shampoo, and when you squeeze out the water, your fingers get caught in your hair. And when you pull your hands free, the hair comes too. Long blonde strands. Think clumps. Not just the amount that comes out from a vigorous hair-brushing session!
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The trauma is unexplainable. So the hair was cut from shoulder blade length to just on the shoulders. And then a bob. And then shorter.
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Eventually a crop. If I hadn’t been going through such a crap with chemo I may have realised that it looked quite cute and kept it.
But I was and I didn’t. And then it didn’t. Because thanks to steroids, my face started to resemble the moon. Shape wise and colour but thankfully not the craters.
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But the hideous cold cap kept about one third of my hair – ish. And I am grateful for that. I tried wigs, I did. But I couldn’t get on with them. It was summer and hot, and wearing a wig was like wearing a woolly hat. I had two great wigs that suited me but that wasn’t enough to get me to wear them. Now, its a different matter of course, especially if they are long and purple and go with my witches outfit, but that’s another story.
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So I went without a wig or a scarf and braved the world. I only had two negative comments the whole time. So either I didn’t look as bad as I thought or people are nicer than I give them credit for.
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You choose.
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time for some experimentation!
It took a while for my hair to grow back and I hated it. The new growth was dark and dull and boring, albeit with some wave. It was the epitome of mousey blonde, ie not blonde at all but you try to convince yourself ….
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So, when I was able, I dyed it. First I had red lowlights. Then pink. And then when it was long enough to do so, the foil came out and blonde I went. I had hair extensions, some pink, blue, purple… And then I had slightly longer extensions, this time wavy ones to match my own hair now slightly wavy hair.
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It was a time of experimentation. But really I just wanted the memories to fade, which they did, inch by inch.
But being told about the Cold Feet storyline made me also slightly nostalgic. So I had a look at some old photos and they are quite amusing. And they tell a story. A story of progress of change and of evolution. It was a slow story I’ll grant you. Three years between the first and last photo. But I remember each one being taken and how I felt at the time. And how my hair makes me feel now.
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It is my mask and what makes me feel good. Curls if I’m feeling flirty, straight for all business. Left to dry if I’m feeling like a lazy bitch. And then there is the plait which can cover all eventualities. And then some.
So yes hair loss is hell. But each inch of regrow is a month or more past one of the worst times in your life. And it’s also an opportunity for fun, to do things you would never have contemplated with your long sensible bob.
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I never want to have to have chemo again. Or lose my hair. But my ever changing hair was the start of the ever changing me, and that I am strangely grateful for.
