Sixteen days after your first chemo session is when your hair starts to go.
It’s very specific and turns out it’s bang on.
I was styling my hair this morning and when I went to wash my hands, they were covered in hair. Not a huge wad, but enough strands that when I rubbed my palms together they created a nice little hairball that I threw in the bin.
My palms were sticky from the hair product and the friction of rubbing them through my hair had turned them into the hair equivalent of a mosquito strip. They stuck and they stuck fast.
When I was a kid and had a loose tooth, I would play with it, poking and wiggling it even though I knew I shouldn’t. It was too much of a temptation not to touch it.
I’m doing the same thing with my hair. I run my hands through it and each time a little bit more comes out.
I’m not too sure why, it’s a macabre fascination.
Maybe I want it to go, at least that way it’s done.