Carlisle. Hairdresser, twenty-two years behind a chair, and extremely aware of hair shedding is what I put on my profile in a jokey way last summer before any of this happened to me.
It started in June. I noticed it in the shower first — not a few strands, a proper amount, wound round my fingers. Then on the pillow. Then, and this is the one that finished me, on the floor of my own salon, and I know exactly whose hair is whose on that floor because it is my job.
I have thinned at the temples and along the parting. I can see the difference in the mirror I have stood in front of every working day since 2003. I have started wearing it differently, which is the oldest trick in my trade and the first time I have ever needed it.
Here is the part I am struggling to write. I have spent twenty-two years telling women that hair grows back, that shedding after a baby or an illness is temporary, that it will be fine, and I have meant it every time and it has almost always been true. And I have got no comfort whatsoever from any of it. I sat in my own chair on Tuesday after the last client had gone and cried about it, and then felt ridiculous, because it is only hair and I have a lot of things to be glad about this year.
It is not only hair though. Is it. Twenty-two years of other people’s faces in that mirror when I turn the chair round have taught me exactly what it is.
I am not going to stop the medicine over it. My knees are better than they have been in a decade and my blood pressure has come down. But I am grieving and I do not want anybody to tell me it is a small price to pay.
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