Hair

This is the point – more than two weeks after chemotherapy – that my hair should be starting to fall out. But so far it isn’t, presumably because of the cold cap, which is great.

Granted, my hair can hardly be referred to as my crowning glory, since cold cap users are advised not to use styling products or hairdryers, or wash hair more than twice a week. My hair may be lank, limp and greasy, but at least it’s still there, for now at least.

But just in case it does start to go, let me me introduce you to Beverley…

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She’s a Hot Hair wig, chosen with the help of my lovely friend Liz, who thankfully stopped giggling long enough to dissuade me from buying one of the short cropped styles which made me look like a 65-year-old dinner lady.

With a name like Beverley (each wig has a name on the box, like a pair of shoes), she probably eats prawn cocktail and black forest gateau while listening to Duran Duran on her Discman. I like to think she’s a bit of a good time girl. I mean, look how her luscious chestnut locks curl gently into the nape of the neck; an effect that can only have been achieved with some Carmen heated rollers. Beverley is ready to party.

Me? Not so much. Although I’ve been feeling much better this week, I’m still peaking at around 70 percent of my usual energy. And that’s after a power nap.

And, just in case you were worrying about the hair on the rest of my body (I’ll be honest, I hadn’t given it much thought), one of my friends (yes, Zelie, that’s you) got me this…

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Friends eh? They’ve got me covered.

 

 

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