Today something memorable happened. I bought shampoo from the local supermarket. Yes, I finally have enough hair to wash - how exciting is that? When I look back to April and May when I was completely bald, I used to look at the shampoo aisle and realise, after pangs of yearning, that I was saving so much money, no cuts, no shampoo and no conditioner.
It seems to be emphasised at the moment as my three daughters all want hair straighteners, or curlers for Christmas. Hair, for a woman, is a big deal and even now, after my shampoo addition to my basket, I still miss my long hair. The hair I had before I got cancer the first time. Long dirty blonde hair that waved down to my waist, hair that I played with all the time, twirling it around my fingers.
Do you have any idea how cold it is without hair? How hats just don't feel the same as they itch, they are uncomfortable and they slip. Nothing beats real hair: even a wig just itches and feels uncomfortable.
I can't even face a haircut at the moment. My lavatory brush hair just sticks up and looks silly. Last year, it had just got to this stage when I had to go through chemo again, and of course, that threat does hang in the air like a bad cloud.
But for the moment, my shampoo stands, a trophy to the human instinct for survival, for keeping on keeping on.