The mist of a crisp August morning,
A wisp of my hair coming through,
Scalp kissed, with a fluff and a warning,
Hope gone is returning anew…
The wig, looking better than I do,
The gig’s to pretend I don’t mind,
“It’s over” you say, yet two years away,
Still seeking the fringe I can’t find!
My wig made me believe that I was the newest member of Abba (so lush!) and styled, off my head, with rollers; I have her still! Yet when my dear friends finally told me (and I realised) that she had to go, that was when the vainly panic set in! After chemotherapy your hair begins again from scratch, and how many one year olds do you see with pop idol hair? This picture is me a year after treatment, I was well, but it took almost all my patience… It is a point many chemo graduates find to be a sting in the tale, be kind, give it five years, remember; you had bunches when you got to primary school!