59. Rug...

Hair is still coming out. Finally, finally, I had to bite the bullet and go to buy a wig. I also had a lot of coursework to mark, so combined the tasks.

Buying the wig was the most stressful task so I did it first. The shop was fairly easy to find. Although it was the shop recommended by the NHS, it was also the place my hairdresser advised me to go to, so I was OK with it. I WAS however, disappointed with the shop. It was small and the wigs inside were really old fashioned and not at all tempting. There WAS one wig, short and in dark brown, that I thought I may be able to cope with.

The assistant was busy when I went in so I waited. I wasn’t convinced by her manner but knew I couldn’t leave without a wig because I didn’t want to have to gather my courage and go back again. Finally when it was my turn, she took me into a back room. I didn’t want to hide in the back but wasn’t given an option. I tried wig after wig. They all looked ridiculous. Each time, the assistant liked the look, which didn’t give me much confidence in her advice.

Then she put a wig on me that off, looked like nothing special. Once it was on, however, it just looked like hair. Which was SUCH a huge relief and is, I suppose, the intention. I played with it, she adjusted it.

I bought wig shampoo and conditioner. I considered some of the scarves they sold but they were dark and old fashioned. I asked about how to tie scarves and the woman from the back room played around a bit; obviously a hairdresser, she did it easily with a flick of the wrist and a little finger play.

The assistant told me I should keep the wig on. I felt really self-conscious but did it. I guess I had to start sometime. I walked around in it, feeling as if everyone must be staring at me. No one was. But the front of the wig kept riding up making the fringe look stupid.

I sent a photograph of myself to S and to I. S liked it. I, however, was upset. Which made the whole thing worse. OK, so I may die. I know it and am coming to terms with the possibility and am resolving my own sense of mortality and religious and spiritual beliefs but my poor baby will be left behind, having to deal with losing her mother. Which is SHIT. I can’t do it. I have to live even if it means having bits of me cut off and having chemo after chemo. So I spent the afternoon reassuring her. I love her SO much and I hate that she’s having to deal with this.