The hair loss I described in Fallout 3 has somewhat accelerated over the last few days. This is what my hair looked like from the back on Friday:
From Hair to Insurgency
Two giant matted hairballs of tats (connected by a tatty bridge) had developed as my rebellious hair had tied itself in knots overnight while 2016 rolled into 2017. New Year’s Day therefore started for me, as for many people around the world, with Hair of the Dog (although my interpretative art version is surely worthy of consideration for a Turner Prize nomination):
(Apologies to the groomed dogs (and their owners) who might be justifiably affronted by this generalised negative comparison to hounds’ hair!)
From Hair to Absurdity
As well as looking like I had several dead rats on my head, which made me fear of comparisons with Trump, the messy mop was actually weighing down my head! I also got a shock on Sunday when hair came out in clumps and I realised that the size of the bald patches were not going to be hidden by even the best of comb-overs!
Yesterday morning, Mam used her Hair Necessities (leave-in conditioner, tangle teezer and scissors) to chop and brush her way through the chaos. I regret that we didn’t video it as we had such a laugh during the Great Rachish Hack-Off, not least because she gave a running commentary on the “progress” of the operation to salvage as many strands as she could.
Mam asked in wonder how I had managed to develop such a style (it might well be my natural predilection towards entropy, if I had to guess). She speculated whether the “hair” (or whatever substance it now was) had fused because of the radiotherapy. Mrs T also queried if it had come about by a process similar to wet felting!
These photos were taken during the clean-up process, but I don’t think photos could ever quite do justice to the tatty matted hairballs (complete with, loops, swirls and whirls of various sizes) that faced my Mam:
From Hair to Extremity
Hair are the fruits of Mam’s valiant efforts – I have a “good” side (in comparison) now more than ever, as you can see:
From Hair to Uncertainty
Maybe by the time the Chinese New Year comes around later this month, I will have cultivated the tufts on the top in honour of the incoming animal (the Rooster). I think that my hair will ultimately look like Bill Bailey* (thin/non-existent on top with long straggly bits around the back and sides). Either way, I think that we’ll be Going on a Hair Hunt sooner rather than later!
In the meantime, I’ll be wearing hats outside and one of the Team Graeme accessories that were donated by Buff for our Kili trip in 2008:
*My friend nearly killed Bill Bailey’s dog. In January 2015, when she first took us to see the church in Watermillock on Ullswater where she got married, there was snow on the ground and snow and ice on the Postman Pat country roads. Although we didn’t realise it was him until immediately after the event, Bill was walking his dog on the verge by the side of the road ahead of us. Thankfully Gilly was driving slowly as she approached to overtake them along the narrow road, which was just as well because Bill’s dog helpfully darted out into the road and we needed to do an emergency stop in the icy conditions to avoid the pooch. Bill turned and was effusively polite and apologetic, explaining that his dog was old and too deaf to have heard the approaching car. We were too polite to mention that Bill should have held on to his dog’s lead tighter to stop him darting out!