The Hair-Story Continues...

On October 15th, 2009, two years ago, I had my final (I hope) chemotherapy session.

Bald as a billiard ball I progressed to five weeks of radiotherapy and, during that time, small fluffy strands of hair started to appear, like peach fuzz.

By January 2010 my heart was broken (that's a whole other story) but my hair was a centimetre long.

In March that year my friend Deidre trimmed off the ends. Loath as I was to part with the tiniest wisp of my new hair Nurse Lottie had insisted that this must be done because the first growth would be full of chemo chemicals and generally 'rubbish'.

Since then I have not had cut it at all. Not once. Now that all must change. It's time for Lily to bite the bullet and venture forth to the hairdresser. Much as I'm looking forward to hanging out with the lovely Kell Skott and his equally lovely wife Jacqui, I simply can't bear to sacrifice my hard won hair in vain. No! If it's going to be cut, it's going to be cut for a cause.

The Haven is a wonderful sanctuary for anyone with breast cancer. They helped and cared for me during my difficult year of breast cancer. Please sponsor my BIG BIANNUAL HAIRCUT by donating to the Haven. 


Click here to donate via Virgin Giving.

For illustrative purposes only - actual result may differ

Good Hair Day

I had nothing better to do today so I measured my hair. In one year it has grown 20 centimetres.

Chemo Curls

Nurse Lottie did warn me: “Your hair might grow back curly.” It makes me think that the chemo must get into one’s very DNA.

I have been hoping that, as my hair grows longer, it might straighten out of its own accord. It is about three inches long now. Today I washed it and applied three different products: Paul Yacomine Micro Treatment Oils; Trevor Sorbie Straigthening Addic Smoothing Balm and PACT Impact Fiber Styling Cream (no I haven’t bothered to gen up on the ingredients). But my hair is still just a big curly bouffe.

Well, I regard this as a high class problem.

Puppy Love

I have been waiting for Deirdre, who is a top hairdresser, to come back from Paris where she has been teasing tresses for the catwalk shows. Because, you see, it is now time for my first haircut. Nurse Lottie’s parting words echo in my head: “Get it all cut off again Lily. The first growth will be rubbish!” She is not wrong. Whilst I wouldn’t say that my hair is exactly “rubbish”, it has grown back quite wiry - and it's curly! When I arise in the morning it has assumed the ‘squashed feather duster’ effect: high and bouffy on top yet flat on the sides.

A few weeks ago, a beautiful grey Burmese kitten came to live at Watsons Bay. Felix is ostensibly Lyla and Lily’s pet but really Samantha and I are in love with him and vie for his attention in surreptitious ways. He is a most affectionate cat. He loves to languish on my lap or wrap himself sinuously around my legs as I stumble my way down the stairs.

Then, only a couple of days ago, Lola arrived. Lola is a pug puppy. She is beige with black ears and a black face, the size of two pats of butter with legs attached. She is as cute as a button.

I settle down on the couch to read Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts. This vast novel is beautifully written, vibrantly descriptive of street life in Bombay and peppered with profound insights into the beauty and the terror, the rapture and the cruelty, of being human. I have been riveted.

Felix drapes himself across my chest, stretched full length and purring. It is a moment of perfect bliss. But Lola feels left out. She patrols up and down the side of the couch making frantic little jumps to try to get up. I turn my concentration to my book. The last time Lola got on the couch she peed on the cushions. She starts crying a sad little puppy lament. She continues prancing and crying for ten full minutes. After I have re-read the same paragraph about a dozen times I relent. “Ok Lola, up you come,” I say, scooping her into the palm of my hand.

Lola steps on Felix’s stomach. Felix digs his claws into my breast. I scream. Felix leaps to the floor. Lola snuffles delightedly, charges forward onto my head and sets about determinedly chewing at my hair. If this puppy simply chews my new hair off I won’t be needing the services of an international session stylist after all.

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.

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.

Green Shoots

My hair is sprouting like a rocket, so to speak. On top it's still fluff but on the side I discover a small lock growing over the top of my ear! It is almost an inch long now and looks like it's going to be grey all over. For all I know my hair might have gone grey when I was seventeen years old. I surely haven't seen its natural colour since then.

So far there's nothing to report on the eyelash front but in a certain light I think I can detect the wispy shadow of an eyebrow.

Whilst having radiotherapy I am under strict instructions not to shave my armpits. There is nothing there to shave anyway. As for my legs and 'bikini line', I'm watching like a hawk. As soon as any little hairs raise their infant heads toward the sun I'll be ready to pounce and rip them out.

Hair Hopes

Head fluff continues to increase and thicken every day. It’s exciting. Who knows how long it may take before actual hair will appear? I was talking to Mum about it this morning. “It takes a few months for babies’ hair to grow,” speculated Mum. “And it may take longer for an adult,” I mused, “after all, babies just grow everything like crazy.” “But then again,” replied Mum, “you were born with a full head of hair.”

I try to picture what my new appearance may be. I can’t imagine. Some kind of hopeful montage of Katherine Hepburn crossed with a L’Oréal shampoo commercial vaguely formulates in my head but then slips away. Looking in the mirror I see a bald old woman. I can hardly remember what I used to look like.

Of course I haven’t seen my natural hair colour since I was sixteen. In the intervening years I have been black, blue, purple, pink, deep brown, bright red and, mostly, auburn. I’m told that after chemo one’s hair might grow back curly. Or dead straight. Or Black. Or completely white.

Nick, Tessa and I go out to the Chelsea Arts Club to watch the fireworks display. It is all a bit of a shambles but fun. I think Tessa senses my insecurity about my looks. When Nick is off getting drinks, Tessa squeezes my bum and says “Don’t worry, you will be gorgeous again.”

About Brows

My hair is still just fuzz. But day-by-day the fuzz grows thicker.

No sign of eyelashes or eyebrows yet, despite diligent daily application of Revitalash. I manage to create an eyelash illusion by smudging a fine dark line of powder along my upper lids. I am amazed at what a difference eyebrows make to one’s appearance. They enliven expression. Without eyebrows one takes on the blank look of a sci-fi Alien. To see a graphic illustration of how important eyebrows are in defining one’s face have a look at the online version of the Times Chemo Chic article. Accompanying the article there is a photo of some show-offy woman with only one eyebrow applied. You can see the difference between the two sides of her face.

I have been smudging them on freehand using L’Oréal Brow & Duo eyeshadow which has a good palette of browns. It is tricky to get them beginning and ending in the right place, arching evenly and at the same height. A small, soft brush and a steady hand are essential.

I recall that Shavata do an eyebrow stencil kit. These are paper squares with cut out shapes that one places on one’s brow to fill in with a pencil or brush. The different shapes are named after the most famous brows of the century: the Kylie; the Liz; the Grace and, of course, the Brooke.

A friend of mine had her eyebrows tattooed on when she had chemo a few years ago. Now she has to have them refreshed every year.

A reader in Australia emails me with a link to a website called Chemo Chicks. After taking a few moments to get over my chagrin I click on and find a marvellous development for the eyebrowless. It’s a mask with cut out eyebrow shapes and an elastic strap to hold it onto one’s face. This means that one has both hands free to expertly apply eyebrows that will be at the same height as one other. Chemo Chicks is based in the USA so ordering the mask before you start chemo would be my tip.

I’ve left it a bit late so will have to persevere with my wobbly brush and powder method.

New Shoots

Since Nick arrived I’ve been so preoccupied that I haven’t had a chance to keep up-to-date on hair and nail related matters. An inspection shows my right big toenail has started to come away all down one side. This is most disappointing. I had assumed that since the chemo has ended, so would the side effects. Not so, apparently.

I started using the Revitalash last Wednesday night. I‘ve been painting it on in a thin line along my eyelids each night, as per the instructions. I’ve also been feathering little strokes along the line of my eyebrows. So far there is no sign of lash or brow regeneration. As I study my eyes I catch sight of the top of my head in the mirror. It is covered all over with fine white fluff, like baby hair. I’m sure that’s new.

Hallelujah! My hair has started to grow.