Through the diagnostic process, I knew I had cancer. I just knew it, and I made the decision to cut my hair to shoulder length, in a blunt bob that I absolutely hated, and the instant it was done I hated it. I knew it was only temporary though, and knew that losing chin-length hair was going to be easier than losing elbow-length hair. I’ve written before about how I hadn’t realised just how deeply attached to my hair I was, and how much of my sense of femininity was tied to the length of it. When I was 21, I cut my hair off to ear-length, and didn’t hate it, but regretted my decision after about 6 weeks as it started to grow out.

I really, truly struggled when my hair began to fall out. I didn’t let it get to the stage of falling out in handfuls at chin-length before I made the decision to shave my head. When the centimetre-long hair began to fall out in earnest, it was such an intensely emotional experience. The day that happened, mum and dad were over, I’d just had the second round of chemo in a hospital bed, found out it was metastatic, and I was in the shower. My scalp was itchy and sore, and the cool water felt so damn good on my scalp. I stood under the water for a while, and after exfoliating, I realised my palms were itchy. I looked at them and saw hair, and reached up and rubbed the top of my head, and my palms were covered in brown hair. I freaked out, and cried. Silently sobbing, because I’m always protecting those around me from my emotions in case they hear me and feel uncomfortable. I rubbed and rubbed and rubbed my scalp until the hair was less and less and less falling out, and watched it swirl around the floor of the shower and wash down the drain.

I honestly felt like my hair was never, ever going to grow back. I had a bit of a tantrum and dumped a whole lot of my hair products in the bin, and I can tell you now, I regret it because now I have to buy them all again. I thought I would be bald for a year, and my hair would barely be growing back by the time I died. I hadn’t known that my hair would start to grow back while I was having chemo, or how quickly it would grow back in.

I have had hair in so many different colours throughout the years. I’ve had blonde highlights, I’ve had black hair, chocolate brown, fire engine red, big fat panels of purple and pink and blue, purple ends, pink ends… and I’ve sought wigs in different colours to give me the variety. I like being able to change my hair colour when I’m bored of it, and wigs are the perfect product for doing so.

My first wig was given to me by the Peter Mac. When you have chemo, you are given five free head dressings, and one of those is a wig. They’re synthetic, and all donated from wig stores that go out of business or have excess stock that’s not selling. I don’t wear it now, and I’ve only worn it once, because it’s not quite right, and you can tell. When you have a wig that’s not right, you can see it, and when you have a wig that is right, you know it immediately. I also have a very impressive headscarf collection, because you don’t realise how cold your head gets when you don’t have any hair on it. Maybe men with short hair just don’t notice it any more after a lifetime of breezes on their scalps, but if I walk under a blast of air-conditioned air, oh boy do I feel it.

My hair is now close to five inches long on the top, and it’s finally settling into something that I can do more than one thing with. It’s taken a lot of patience and time to get to this position, and there was a chunk of almost three months where I really hated my hair, and I couldn’t believe how much money I was paying for something I hated. But I was told I had to persist, that there would be weeks like that, and overall it has worked out.

So I thought that I would make a post about me, and my vanity, just to prove I look awesome no matter what gets thrown at my head.