Hair today

My mad, unruly curls have all been chopped off.  Shame – I’d grown quite fond of them once they’d moved on from the tight, grey, just had a perm stage.  People pay good money for curls like that.  But I knew they weren’t destined for a long life and my hair really did need cutting.   It is now two years and about three weeks since that awful, dreamlike day when I was told I had cancer.  Almost exactly two years since my hair started falling out,  19 months since I noticed the first hint of bum fluff returning to my bald head. 

That’s not so long, really. All over and done with in the blink of an eye.  My cancer is old history now and I’m just a statistic.  I don’t think about it so often these days and I suspect most people around me don’t ever give it a thought any more.  And that’s how it should be.  I fully expect to be one of the 73% of ovarian cancer sufferers who survive to 5 years after diagnosis.  I plan to be one of the 30% or so who make it past 10 years.  The statistics for ovarian cancer survival make grim reading but I’m one of the lucky ones, diagnosed early before the cancer had spread outside the ovary.  Potty Mummy has just written a post about ovarian cancer symptoms and there’s a bit more in one of my posts from earlier this year.  If you have any of the symptoms, don’t dismiss them, don’t let your GP dismiss them and whatever you do, don’t leave it too late.

Now that mine’s all done and dusted, I wouldn’t mind having my brain back.  I wandered through the chemotherapy in a spaced out chemical haze of poor concentration and useless memory.  The fog might have lifted but my concentration these days is, well, crap.  And that’s not great when you work at home – there is so much scope for displacement activity.  It’s really difficult to say to clients “Sorry that report’s overdue again. It’s the chemobrain, you know.” 

Oh well, back to the sudoku.

14 thoughts on “Hair today

  1. ah, chemo brain…just love it don’t you? not. BUT, mine is definitely improving [I can read an entire book again at last]

    I think I’ll never cut my hair again! In 45 years in should reach the ground do you think? I shall have a teal rinse ;o)

  2. My mother’s hair is just growing back now. And seems to be curly, which makes a change! Great to celebrate another sign that Cancer is behind you. Congrats!

  3. We tried a bright red rinse on mine when it was first growing back, Sndhy, but it didn’t work – I ended up vaguely lavender. And Mud I’m glad to hear your Mum is recovering from the chemo. I do hope her cancer has gone.

  4. That was a very encouraging story for me to read because I am just about to start chemotherapy. I am determined to get over it.
    Not ovarian cancer but an *occult cancer* of unknown origin but definitely of gyanae origin. Scans can’t pick it up.
    I am bookmarking this blog!

    Nuts in May

  5. Maggie, good luck with your chemo – if it’s a gynae cancer it’ll probably be similar to mine. It wasn’t as bad as I was expecting – I did continue pretty much as normal through it. And really, it was all over very quickly. I hope everything goes OK for you.!

  6. lavender?? heh heh – cool!

    Maggie May – as guineapigmum said, the treatment seems to go quite quickly and was not as bad as I expected either. Good luck with it!

  7. Maggie May—fear of the treatment is worse than the treatment itself. Soon it will be just one of those unsettling memories, something you came through just fine, but especially finer because of the help of all your friends…the ones you know now and those that you are sure to meet because this is definitely a disease more easily defeated with the help of friends.

  8. Many thanks all of you. Did you wear wigs or head scarves?
    I have been warned about the neuropathy in the fingers & toes and that will probably be bad for me……. as I type and knit.
    Hope I can still be there for my granddaughters because 4 months is a long time not to see them.
    Can’t wait to get started and then it will at least be nearer the end.

    I will check here again!

    Nuts in May

  9. I wore a buff with a wig for best or when I didn’t want people to know. I was never totally comfortable with the wig as I always felt it was sliding up! It’s difficult to pull it back down with style. The neuropathy wasn’t too bad but it did get worse as the treatments went on so it was really the last half of the treatment. But not too much of an issue. I still went to parents evenings, concerts, Christmas parties, meetings, all the things I wasn’t supposed to do, and didn’t ever get ill. And we went away to family for CHristmas instead of staying in isolation at home. The hospital timed the chemo sessions so that I didn’t need to go in over CHristmas – it’s worth asking about that before you start.

    It’ll be over before you know it!

  10. Many thanks…… Great to get some positive feedback and I don’t care when I have the chemo (regarding Christmas) as I just want to get this thing started.
    You sound as though you are a great fighter…… so wishing you many years of really good health. Lets drink to that! (For both of us) Maggie X

    Nuts in May

  11. Good luck with it all, Maggie. As you say, here’s to many years of good health – I’m raising my (metaphorical) glass to you! And I’m sure there’s no need to miss out on your granddaughters.

  12. It’s taken a while to catch up with this post. It’s such a positive read. I’ve always liked your attitude.

    The statistics always scare me, even when they’re really good. Odds, even when stacked in my favour, don’t seem easy to get my mind round. Perhaps that’s just me. I know a lot of people do find them reassuring and helpful.

    Can I raise my metaphorical glass with you, and enjoy a metaphorical New Year tipple in your company?

  13. Happy New Year, Iota! I hope it’s a good one for you. My glass is raised in anticipation! I try not to pay too much attention to statistics, at least not when they affect me.

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