Chemo at 30 is not in anyone’s plan
‘Mummy, why does that lady have pink hair?’ I heard a little girl ask her mum next to me in the salon. I glanced at myself in the mirror. I wish I could have said it was a daring move, bold experimentation – but that would be far from true. It was one of those cheap fancy dress wigs that itches and smells of plastic. I was about to take it off, ready to let the hairdresser shave off the tufts of hair left on my head. I was going full-on bald – the surest way to tell the world I was a cancer patient.
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