Yesterday was not good. The stomach trouble (and that’s a euphonism) turned into an agonizing windlock. It took over an hour of massage by my wife to clear it.
It was not good, and the next days are when I can expect to be at my lowest after the chemo. So back to the opening medicine! But it’s now 19 days to go to end of the tablets.
Let’s change the subject, I promised several days ago to write about my new hair. It’s time I kept my promise.
I lost all my hair during the first session of chemo, during the spring. It’s grown back since, but it’s very curly. I don’t like it, but my female relatives all think it’s cute and take turns in running their fingers through my hair. I promised to show my new hair on the blog, so here it is!
I am told it makes me look cute (my beloved wife is currently running her fingers through it). I am told it makes me look like Peter Capaldi, and it is a great improvement.
Now I have to admit one thing, it’s better than being bald, and feeling the air vortices coming off my ears as I walk around. But I hate it.
It shows my huge widow’s peak, which stretches half way across my head, and has done all my life. It makes me look like Ming the Merciless, and the tuft at the front looks like TinTin.
I remember when I was a kid going to the barbers’ for a haircut and the barber insisted on slathering haircream over my newly cut hair and combing a parting along the left hand hairless desert. I used to go straight home and into the bath. Wash it all off and get my fringe back.
I’m told it looks scruffy. So? I’ve spent 70 years of my life looking scruffy. I like looking scruffy, I’m good at it, lots of practice makes perfect (or in this case imperfect). After all with a twisted back and rebuilt leg I’m never going to look that good.
Okay, I can put on a jacket, even a tie if I have to, but I know how I feel inside and I know it shows through.
So now I feel lost, my image is ruined. I am grieving. And not one female of my family has any sympathy. See what a hard life I lead.