Is That A Hair In My Soup, Monsieur?
I was prepared for my hair to fall out. At least I thought I was. I really was NOT prepared for my hair to fall out.
Although I had cut it short and it was thinning out, I still looked vaguely human. Then, we had the hairy shower incident. That was the beginning of the end of my hair. It started to moult, everywhere. Its amazing how much hair you have. It came out in clumps. It came out on the pillow whilst I slept. It came out on my clothing. It just went everywhere. I should have bagged it up and recycled it.
Eventually it got to the point when I had had enough. I demanded that it was shaved off, IMMEDIATELY.
At first it was a shock being bald. And very, very cold. Eventually we got used to it. My husband started to call me "Uncle Fester". I had a remarkable likeness to him by this point. I had a nice bald head and a round moonface from the steriods.
I never used my wig. It didn't feel right. And, in a strange way, I felt empowered. I wanted to share my "baldness" as a mark of my awesomeness - I was kicking cancer's butt and chemo was another weapon in my arsenal. I got obssessed with headscarves. And hats.
Lots and lots of hats.
