Countdown to chemo: three days to go.
B. won’t start to lose his hair until three or four weeks after the chemo starts, from what we’ve read. But he’s bought his ‘cancer cap’ already – featuring ‘his’ NFL team, the Chicago Bears – and is wearing it in the house as I type. He’s never really been into hats before, apart from a sun hat when I force him to on holiday. But I don’t think this is a fashion thing; maybe it’s akin to a security blanket. Or maybe he just wants to get used to wearing it now, before he has to.
I’ve been getting in on the hair loss act too. On Saturday, I had a rather radical haircut (well, radical for me anyway). I lost about three inches. Perhaps it was because of the recent heatwave – it’s been too long, thick and sweaty – or maybe it’s just my cancer-sympathy cut. B. had asked me to shave off my hair when his falls out. I don’t think he was joking, either. I said I loved him, but not that much. My hair’s my ‘thing’, although I probably isn’t, really, and that every woman thinks that. I can’t imagine how I’d feel if I lost my locks to chemo; I’d be devastated. Almost as devastated as finding out I had cancer itself.
I think B. will be able to pull off the shaved head look. I think the day when it starts to come out, and we (he) make the decision to get rid of it will be another tough challenge in a line of rough days. When his lovely hair has gone, I expect that’ll be when I think he looks actually sick.