I wake with a start and check the pillow straight away. No hair there. I’ve still got my to do list ‘to do’ before my second cycle. So I get up and mark four assignments before breakfast. I love getting my tasks done and ticking them off the list. (Control freak?!)
It would have been the last day of the college term today. This saddens me a little. Another nudge to remind you nothing is as it used to be now. And don’t I know it?? I see clients all morning on instant messenger – glad they can’t see me and my pathetic excuse for a pony tail. A tip for you – if you do have long hair. I’ve noticed when it is tied up it doesn’t fall out as quickly as when it is down. Less mess. I’ve had a few fall on my keyboard but the temptation to keep running your hands through it isn’t there. Keeps it in place. I’m not enjoying the feeling of the stray little buggers breaking free and tickling the back of my arms.
I’ve struggled to reach out today. I am finding it hard – mentally. I’ve told a few friends I’m losing my hair but I’ve not shared the emotional impact this is having on me. My wonderful New Zealand friend/counsellor by trade pointed out the obvious, ‘grief and loss’. You’d think being a counsellor I’d have got to this myself.
My sister also put a mirror up to me ‘It’s another reminder that you have cancer’. Cancer faded into the distance somewhat – chemo and injections and managing the side effects were more prominent thoughts.
‘Oh yes I feel like shit because I’ve got cancer…..’
…..does not always spring to mind. Mr chemotherapy gets more of the blame than his counterpart. ‘Try thinking about it like you’re a step closer to getting your life back…..’, my sister texts me. Yep. Like that. And for a while it works. But the tears build up, get choked back and forgotten at least another six times today – and it’s only 5pm. I want to let them go and I know a fair few people would be at hand with a mop and bucket but I’m resisting all things Vileda today.
I’m on my own and I almost feel I need to save up the ‘help me I am struggling’ tokens for a more ‘bigger’ struggling day.
Writing it here has helped. (For more tips and techniques see ‘COPING SKILLS UNDER SUPPORT TAG’)
I’m going to try and think like this – I am going to be breaking up with my hair, in that I am now deciding to end the 46 relationship I have had with my hair. Did you know the function of hair includes protection, regulation of body temperature, and hairs also act as sense organs? Hair loss occurs because chemotherapy targets all rapidly growing cells – healthy ones as well as those naughty cancer cells. So there is lot riding on this breakup isn’t there? Not only will I feel different and I am going to look different.
So I have decided to do it via a ‘Dear John’ letter… Let me know what you think!?
Dear hair,
It is with a heavy heart that I am writing to you today. You have been in my life for pretty much forever, almost 47 years now, and for that I am grateful. We have had our ups and downs along the way haven’t we and I’d like to take this opportunity to clear the air with you my dear hair.
Let’s start with how angry you have made me feel by refusing to grow to the length I asked you. Why did you only ever go so far without splitting and drying out? You know how embarrassed I was when I tried to put a top ponytail in to be met with a fanfare that could only be described as straw. I’ve seen better in my rabbit hutch. And, why do you insist on absorbing the slightest bit of moisture despite the layers of protection I have caked you in? Cruel.
But I must also ask for your forgiveness for the amount of damage I did to you by perming you weekly throughout the 80’s. I know you have never truly recovered from that. You are also well aware how much money I have spent on you over the years. We have made some dreadful mistakes with cheap hairdressers and nasty colour choices. Always trying to achieve something I could never be had took it’s toll on you. Oh how we laughed. And cried. Remember that one one in Blackpool on Whitegate Drive? We were going to Ibiza a few days later and I wanted a new do – remember?
We arrived with dull dark long hair floating down the back for highlights and a good cut. Jesus Christ. We left feeling the wind on the back of our neck, now an undesirable colour of what could only be described as canary yellow bleached blond with a hint of jade green. We were unrecognizable. Even our regular bus driver who drove the number 26 looked straight past us. And when that hot hot sun in Ibiza joined the party we were totally f***ed. I am so sorry.
I can’t bear thinking of you now under the highlight cap in the late 80’s having a sharp needle painfully drag through already wrecked tufts of hair, leaving behind bleed marks and always achieving an uneven colour at the end of the blow dry. The bleach has been beaten in to you over time eh?! I can’t apologize enough. I think it was about this time your PTSD started.
Actually maybe a year or two earlier when I took a pair of blunt scissors to you and dry cut you a mullet. I remember chopping and trimming away at you until I achieved that hideous look. But I was soooo pleased with the results. I looked a-maze-ing! You didn’t agree. After the first wash you refused point blank to get back into the shape I had so cleverly created the day before. Months of bullying followed this. I’ve not been able to look at a picture of Pat Sharpe since without shaking and needing to lay down.
The jade green must have made an impression on you, because this was the colour you reverted back to after my first child was born. I was sooo looking forward to having my hair dyed after giving birth, but oh no. You weren’t having any of it. Two attempts later and you did not budge. In fact you went a forest green now. You could still see the brown strands of my natural colour trying it’s best to stay out the way of the hair war that was raging. Along with the hormones. Tears did not stop coming and I don’t think you noticed. I saw you get thicker and healthier throughout the pregnancy so why did you just not give me the colour I wanted too? You sulked for a few years after this if I remember rightly. Good money after bad and still you stubbornly refused to match to the colour charts I would desperately present to the hairdresser. Begging them to ‘make me look like this’.
It’s been a blast and despite all the unintentional carnage I’ve caused us both you did stick by me and for that I will always remember for. Many hair follicles would have given up and left.
But my friend, the time has arrived for us to say our goodbyes and part company. I have got breast cancer and this means chemotherapy. I have been warned you will leave within the next two weeks. I am filling up with tears as I write to you. I have no choice in this matter and never ever did I imagine writing this to you, my dear and faithful friend. This is now out of our control. I have tried to negotiate a cold cap but with COVID I did not stand a chance. Sorry, but the chemo is too strong for us both.
But, I am asking you to have some patience and wait for me. There will come a time where you will not be killed off anymore by my treatment. You will have the chance again to grow and come back. Please do this for me. But please, I beg of you. Don’t come back white or curly. Thank you.
With fondest memories,
Your companion,
Heidi x x