A mammoth undertaking

Recently I’ve noticed that my scalp has been slightly tender to the touch. At the clinic yesterday it was confirmed that I would probably soon begin to lose my hair, and indeed this morning in the shower I was pulling it out in clumps while washing it. Time for it to go.

I asked Gillian if she would mind taking the scissors to it. She minded, but did it anyway. It was a slightly tragi-comic event with both of us simultaneously oh-dearing and laughing. It’s quite ragged now, and I’ll have to get it properly clipped at the barber, but at least I shan’t be clogging any drains in the near future.

I was sad to lose it, but on the other hand it is a sign that the chemotherapy is making some changes in my body. Cells are being damaged, or maybe even killed. With luck, the tumour is taking the brunt of the attack, with my hair as the collateral damage only.

As for that title, it’s a nod to my former colleagues (hello Mark, Andy, Andy, David and Mike) who all thought my hair was too long. The standard haircut was a number 2, much too short for me. Looking in the mirror after it was gone, I can see that I was right all along.