I remember my first day at Goldsmiths in 2007, officially registering for the Masters in Journalism I had decided to pursue as I neared the end of my chemotherapy course. I’d almost forgotten I was still on chemotherapy: a measly pill of a low dose could have been my daily vitamins. My hair had grown … Continue reading The cancer look – or, why I have a beard
Day +50 (and +47 to +49): Treatment by numbers
1 readmission to hospital since discharge following stem cell transplant (average is apparently three in first year post-transplant) 2 times as bushy: my eyebrows seem to have thickened dramatically; fine hair has also appeared on the bottom of my nose, my ears and, to a lesser extent, the rest of my head. I'm not sure why... … Continue reading Day +50 (and +47 to +49): Treatment by numbers
Days +34 and +35: Matters of perception
Yesterday I went to St George's for my monthly pentamadine (to protect my lungs, mostly from pneumonia, I think), after it was brought back in to replace the potentially allergy-inducing septrin I had been taking as tablets. It was a remarkably swift and efficient operation, thanks to doctor Matthew's excellent pre-planning in writing up a prescription … Continue reading Days +34 and +35: Matters of perception
Day +15: The bald truth
Growing up, I invariably went to the same hairdresser in Chichester, an incredibly shy but sweet man called Stephen. He didn't do anything special, but cut my hair in the same inoffensive style, to the same length all over. I was very happy with this. At boarding school a hairdresser visited on certain days at certain … Continue reading Day +15: The bald truth
Day +11: Show and tell (but mostly show)
1. I said last night we'd celebrate the last few hours of Day +10 ("engraftment day"). And we did. 2. Oh yes, my hair started falling out to a serious degree yesterday; rather than let it get patchy, we thought it time to take to the clippers. 3. Today (Day +11), Fred came up to Tooting... … Continue reading Day +11: Show and tell (but mostly show)
The hair gets thinner up here
One evening when I was out of hospital for a time during treatment for my first bout of leukaemia, I found myself in the queue for a club (the Clapham Grand, for connoisseurs of such establishments), merrily enjoying life with a bandana on my head and a Hickman line in my chest. I was standing in … Continue reading The hair gets thinner up here