This week is my ‘free-from’ week. Free from drugs, free from tests, free from needles and free from the after-effects of FEC1. I’m loving this week!
It’s been rainy and cold but I don’t mind. Hellfire, brimstone and plagues of locusts wouldn’t get me down. I feel good, I seem to be functioning normally and that is all I ask.
Free-from week doesn’t mean I can slouch around though. My task, before more of my hair detaches itself from me, was to procure a wig. And this, it must be said, was no easy feat. I feel very sorry for the lady who helped, she was very patient and I tried on loads. Most of them made me look like Prymatt Conehead with hair and I couldn’t lie about it.
When you have your own hair re-styled you get an idea of the finished article while the hairdresser busily snips away. You can also intervene if things are getting a little too drastic. When you go to the wiggery there’s no gradual build-up. It’s zero to hair-oh!! in 20 seconds. Trying on wigs can be a bit of a shock because it’s not just style that’s a challenge, there’s also fit, fall and shade. The wiggery had nothing at all in my colour which added to the overall bizarre-ness of the experience. I’m naturally reddish-fair (or ginger as my friends-who-are-brothers like to remind me) so trying on ‘Tova’ in Rich Espresso or Frosted Chocolate took me from Prymatt Conehead to Morticia Adams (complete with conehead).
After trying many wicked wigs I ended up with Kate, a layered bob-type style in Maple-Sugar. (Where do they get these descriptions from?) It’s not the same as having my own hair but my son said I looked awesome – quite a compliment from a trendy 19-year-old – and it beats being bald. I think I might become quite fond of her.