Isita’s hair has started to fall out. She woke up a couple of days ago with tufts coming adrift and now looks like an angelic midget whose comb-over has got in a muddle. It happens so quickly.
It is not a flattering moment and up to a point she has been remarkably unfazed by it. That point was when she saw herself in the mirror this evening while brushing her teeth. Before that she had felt her hair thinning, and seen the tangle of golden floss pile up in the tin box (for collection by the hair fairy), but not not fully linked these things with a change in her appearance. It seems that all the amazing preparation by the play specialists and nurses at GOSH couldn’t prepare her for that.
She has known for weeks that she will become totally bald, and accepted it trustingly as she has accepted so much else. She has a bald barbie and a bald stuffed lion. So, perhaps when she has lost all her hair it will be easier. But no matter how beautiful she is in our eyes, and how much we told her, this evening she could not see past her wispy scalp.
The hats Marta has bought made her feel better and less self-conscious. She went to bed in a pink woolly number. Tomorrow, we will go through my hankie drawer to find her some silk spotty bandanas.