My father had driven me to the hospital by 8 am. in his specially
adapted station wagon, and collected me after work for the return
trip home. In the rear of the car was a mattress which allowed
me to remain on my side for the duration of the journey. Then
the night was spent lying on another mattress on the lounge
room floor at home. It was an incredibly boring experience. The
next day saw me back at Peter MacCallum, ready to bear my
head to more radiation.
I actually knew that I was looking sick during this time, with my carefully selected
wig barely masking my bald scalp, and my shrunken frame starved
by nausea.
Sick, but I was confident.
Confident of winning and proving Dr Whiteside correct. I viewed
others as quite different to myself, even
though in many cases their predicament was similar to my own.
Accepting temporary baldness is a problem many victims of
cancer must deal with. It doesn't matter how many people tell
you that it looks natural; the mirror cannot lie. You can quite
easily recognise almost all full wigs if you look carefully.
We had purchased a wavy dark wig from a highly recommended
retailer in the city, then at home, I butchered it into a style that
I liked. My hair would grow back in only a few months I had
been told. This was a comforting thought, but there was nothing
that was going to prevent the time of baldness being embarrassing.
And it was.
