Growing your hair back from scratch is like carrying the cutest, rarest pet with you at all times. That lives on your head.
I think of this new growth as fur not hair at all. It has this minky colour, which is more blonde-y, grey-y , brown-y (it’s mink, that is the colour I just tried to describe-y) than I’m used it being. It’s short and thick and sooooooo soft, like a pelt of fur. I may be hunted and skinned at any moment.
I croon to my hair and rub my hands over and over, my now not bald scalp. Like my own personal talisman. A., so he tells me, gently runs his fingers over it while I’m sleeping. I don’t know how it feels to watch the person you love change from so many different extremes (I hope I never get to find out), but I’m sure I’d be pleased when they got their hair back too.
Some of my work colleges only met me for the first time as a bald, moon-faced creature. I didn’t have eyelashes at the time! I find it extraordinary that in 2 months I’ve grown approx. 1 cm of hair and more eyelashes than I have patience to count. The fact that I don’t feel I have the time to count my eyelashes, should tell you how drastically my life has changed again in the last few months.
People want to and like to touch my head, it looks so much like a velvet cap. I think it’s difficult not to want to stroke it. You see? Pet on my head. When I meet up with people after time a part, I automatically lean in so they can pat me. That’s weird right? I’m pretty sure I’ll stop this soon.
The touching of my head by others, often without permission, took no time for me to get used to. I was going to write that it feels weird and like a strange invasion of personal space but stroking my hair comforts and fascinates me, so I assume it does others too. It’s such a joyous time. I’m happy for people to share my joy.
I guess this may be how heavily pregnant women feel, though I read most women aren’t so into randoms touching their bellies. Are bellies more intimate than heads? Perhaps as you are growing a person not just hair….
As I’ve been told quite recently that conceiving a baby is not likely (we’ve got 2 chances and about a 20% success rate, each time); this is perhaps the only time people will feel able to randomly croon while patting a part of me, so feel I should embrace it.
See what I did there? I got all serious in a pithy piece about hair. I’m not sure how I feel about this information yet. It’s pretty fresh but obviously my subconscious it interested in discussing it.
So, so I went to see a specialist, who told me the news. I got pretty choked up, more from shock than anything. My first thought was; this would be so much worse if I’d always wanted children, if I couldn’t imagine my life without kids, I would be devastated right now but I’m not sure I do and I totally can, so just breath. Then I told A. and he took me in to work. I’ve not, we’ve not, had much time to unpack this whole thing yet.
I’m angry it’s another area of my life that I don’t get to control anymore. I’ve observed, even in the short amount of time since receiving the news, that people assume you want or are able to have children. I’m not surprised or feeling particularly outraged by that assumption but truth be told A. and I are some what ambivalent.
We also feel we are in the middle of a battle that hasn’t ended yet and finding this out is like losing a squadron. It’s not nothing but we have to concentrate on the whole battlefield at present. We can mourn later if that’s what we choose to do.
A. has been showing me pictures from magazines of older couples with lovely homes and wonderful bear sized dogs; he says that they look happy. They do look happy. We are very happy at the moment too and as we are ‘living in the moment’, I think I’m as fine as I can be.
Besides I get to carry around a pelt of fur, on my head, like a pet – not everyone gets to know what that feels like.