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 Continue reading