Marooned

Hair dye may be one of the most toxic cosmetics that we habitually put on our bodies. I read somewhere that a ranking of the most dangerous professions puts hairdressers right up there with Chilean miners and human cannonballs. But I have yet to find a suitable alternative hair colour that isn’t wishy-washy.

Investigations continue.

Meanwhile, in an attempt at harm minimisation on the financial front at least, I go to my local branch of Boots. Here I am bewildered by rack upon rack of boxed hair dye, each one bearing the face of an averagely pretty white woman with a slightly different hair colour, smiling like the cat that got the cream. “Look at me,” she seems to purr, “I dyed my hair honey copper blonde and now little Johnny has got a scholarship to Eton, my husband has been promoted at Goldman Sachs, I’ve just taken delivery of a new Porsche Cayenne and I’m having an affair with Dirk, my personal trainer.”

I search among the rows of boxes for my usual colour. Then I search for even longer for a staff member to help me.

“We don’t stock that colour”

“Do you mean it’s out of stock?”

“No. We’ve never stocked it.”

I’m fairly certain that I have bought it here for the past five years. Nonetheless, I accept that that line of reasoning will get me nowhere so I get busy studying the shelves and eventually select another packet whose smiling head I might aspire to.

On emerging from the bathroom I Skype Lulu in Armidale, northern New South Wales, Australia. They say that familiarity breeds contempt. In my experience, distance does not necessarily soften it. “What’s happened to your hair?” screams Lulu.

“Well, I dyed it, kind of... purple.”

It’s, it’s maroon!”

Latest Tips

The longer Chemo Chic continues the more people get in touch with their own stories, advice and tips that I only wish I had known when I was first diagnosed with breast cancer.

Lorraine writes to tell me about Cancer Hair Care, a charity started by her hairdresser Jasmin Julia Gupta. This is a fabulous website packed with information on hair loss, wigs, re-growth, colouring hair and faking eyebrows and lashes.

Lorraine has posted further information on the Chemo Chic Facebook page.

Whilst on the subject I want to again mention Made for Life Days. These free pamper days are organised by the Made for Life Foundation to offer a bit of TLC to women undergoing cancer treatments.

Colour me Beautiful

“Hmmm,” I peer at my reflection in the salon mirror, “I don’t think this is quite the effect I was after.” Malvina, a young colourist at Kell Skott Haircare, looks at me with a deflated and slightly puzzled air. My hair is a kind of cat’s-pee yellow with grey spots. “Shall I do it again?” Malvina offers.

On arrival I asked Malvina to colour my hair with vegetable dye. “OK,” she replied, “it contains no peroxide so it will last one or two washes.” I did a fast cost-ratio calculation, weighing up the pros and cons of vegetable dye. On the con side is the prospect of having to fork out for hairdressing every two weeks. On the pro side is the fact that vegetable dyes do not contain harmful chemicals, I think, though didn’t I read somewhere that they contain metals? And are the chemicals in hair dye harmful? At that precise moment I could not recall any specific information. I made a mental note to do proper research about the hazards of hair colours. “I’ve changed my mind,” I said. “We can do a semi-permanent with one per-cent peroxide,” Malvina suggested, “it won’t last as long but I think it will be safer to make it weak.”

Now, as I study the blotchy, bilious result, I do feel sympathy for her. Following chemotherapy baldness my hair is about an inch long all over but it is uneven in distribution, colour and texture. It is thick at the back and thin at the front, silver on the tips and dark underneath, quite wiry on top but soft as velvet on the sides. I guess it is a hair colourist’s nightmare.

Lottie, the admirably practical sister on the chemo unit, told me that when my hair grows to about three inches long I should have it all cut off again. “The first growth will be rubbish,” she informed me making decisive snapping scissor gestures with her fingers.

But for now, it’s all I’ve got and I intend to work it. “Why don’t you try it with more peroxide?” I instruct Malvina.

After another forty-five minutes of dyeing and washing and a lot of checking on the part of the colourist, I emerge from the salon with a chic, sleek head of dark, shiny chestnut brown.

I buzz home. Just as I’ve put the kettle on Issy is a-knockin at my door. She’s come for the latest instalment in a series of photos that she is taking as I progress through my chemo odyssey. “Oh my god!” exclaims Issy. “What?!” say I. “You hair. It’s beautiful.” “Really?” I reply, fishing, “you don’t think I look like Mr Spock?”

From her bag, Issy produces skull-print scarves in a range of vogueish colours. "I'm following your lead," she says, "everyone is getting skull scarves for Christmas." I accept the implied compliment like a hypocrite. I haven't bought one single skull scarf for anybody for Christmas.

Issy takes the photographs in the same manner every time – against a blank background, first with a bare face and then with make-up. Today I try to reproduce the dramatic eye make-up that the lovely make-up artist at the Made For Life day showed me how to do. I start with a peachy pink base then layer on a smoky brown, dark chocolate liner and then, hallelujah... mascara! My eyelashes are back. They’re short. They’re stumpy. But they are real and they are mine.

Issy tells me that I will be able to see all the photos at her MA degree show in March. In the beginning, when my hair was falling out, my confidence was at its nadir and I imagined myself being judged by friends and strangers, I was very hesitant about being photographed at all. Now I feel an interested and pleasant anticipation at the prospect of revisiting my whole journey through the medium of Issy’s photographs.

After Issy leaves I realise that I was so involved with admiring my painted lashes that I forgot to apply the pink lipstick. I pray that Issy will not fail her MA on account of this.

The next arrival on my doorstep is Justin. You may recall that Justin has had his magpie eye on my red skull scarf for some months. This morning I washed it and hung it on the radiator to dry. “This is for you Justin, happy Christmas,” I say, handing him the crumpled scarf. That skull scarf had become emblematic of everything that this blog is about. It was the totem of Chemo Chicness. I had considered buying an identical scarf at the Indian shop and palming Justin off with the duplicate. But now I see the error of that thinking. Justin positively beams at me. “Lily, are you sure? Wow. I’m made up!” he exclaims. The skull scarf has done its service with me. It feels right to pass it on.

Hairy Moments

People are getting in touch all the time with their own tips, advice and experiences. I only wish I’d known half of this stuff back in summer when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I had no clue as to where to begin. I knew no-one who had been through it.

Everything happens so quickly. One day in May I was told I had cancer. A week later I had surgery. Three weeks after leaving hospital I commenced chemotherapy. Friends put me on to friends of theirs but I was too overwhelmed, afraid and it has to be said, ashamed, to ask for any useful advice.

But that is why I started Chemo Chic.

I felt horrified and bereft at the prospect of my hair falling out. Back BC, I had a long, thick mane of glossy auburn. My hair was my crowning glory, so much a part of me. Losing it was losing a piece of my identity. The day that my hair came out in my hands I cried and cried. I felt so powerless in the situation.

So I am delighted to pass on to you the following brilliant strategy from Andrea, writing on the Chemo Chic facebook page. Before being diagnosed with cancer, Andrea had bum length dreadlocks. She had grown them for eleven years. Everybody knew her as “Andrea with the dreads”. You can only imagine how much a part of Andrea’s identity those dreadlocks were. Faced with the prospect of having her hair ‘taken’ by chemo, Andrea decided on a preemptive strike. She organised a huge party and invited all her friends. The culmination of the event was Andrea having her head completely shaved. In the process she raised over £700 for Breast Cancer Care. Andrea writes that she did not shed a single tear as her hair was removed.

Now, I know that Andrea will have down days and there will be tears to come. But the ability to turn adversity on its head will give her strength to make it through the ordeal to come. Given the choice none of us would have Breast Cancer at all. But we don’t have that choice. The only choice we have is to get through it with grace and courage or to get through it kicking and screaming. I have had my share of bleak moods and crying jags but I hope that on most days I have chosen to see cancer from a positive perspective.

Now I’m sitting here running my fingers through a fabulous thatch that's at least half an inch long all over. I think it may be time to colour it. Mum advises me to use a chemical free vegetable dye. Wanda says that vegetable dyes are rubbish. Naturally, I agree with both of them. I'm just pleased to have such a high-class problem.