Tomorrow I have my second dose of chemotherapy. Back to the hospital, drip up, poison injected, cold cap (ouch!!!!) on, then home. My bloods yesterday were fine: apparently my white cells and my platelets are holding up. However, they are going to organise a District Nurse to give me injections into my abdominal wall to improve marrow function. I wonder why I am not looking forward to that? Oh the cowardly wimp!!!
All seemed to be going well over the last three weeks. I had minimal side effects (details available, if anybody is interested) and felt generally well except for the exhaustion. A few eyelashes and other hairs had fallen out, but nothing to speak of. I was congratulating myself on the success of the ice cap. Until last Monday. I washed my hair, as I do every other day. Suddenly, there were hairs everywhere. My shoulders were covered. My hands were full as I rinsed my hair. The drainage hole was blocked. I watched, mesmerised and horrified. I kept clearing things and they kept clogging. Eventually, I got out of the bath. As I towelled my hair, the towel went black.
I took a few deep breaths. This was predicted. I must not over-react. But there is something very distressing about seeing your hair all falling out, even if, like me, you have so much hair that it does not really show yet. So, why does it matter so much? Why is hair so important? I don't know the answer to that, but I do begin to realise that there is something very important about hair. It somehow defines us. I had not expected to respond this way. Indeed, I had been joking about it, saying it would grow back (which it will) and that I might turn into a sexy blonde (huh!). None of that matters now. I find I dread washing my hair and that I try and avoid threading my hands through my hair, normally a constant movement. How silly is that?
So, is there a PhD thesis there?
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