ANGEL DELIGHT.

    I stood under the brightest star imaginable the other night. It was about four in the morning and if it hadn't been for the fact that I was scantily clad I would have whistled for the dog and together we would have followed it to Bethlehem. It was also the only star in the sky - no word of a lie.
    A few days later I came downstairs to find a blackbird in our hallway. Showing no fear it put its head to one side, looked at me with beady eyes and hopped out of the door. The resemblance to my Great Aunt Mildred was uncanny.
    I can only assume that the back door had been blown open by the wind but I would like to point something out, our back door is wrought iron, it is very heavy and on the day in question there was only a light breeze. In my mind there was no doubt, they were both signs.
    As a young child I was always seeing signs and making bargains with the big man - if you make me pass my Maths' homework then I promise I will be good  - that sort of thing. I never ever passed my Maths' homework and therefore never ever saw the necessity to fulfil my part of the bargain!
    I told my husband about my signs. He gave me 'that look' - the one which he has recently developed and which says "There's no harm in humouring her, she's on massive medication and not thinking straight, just smile and wave boys, smile and wave."
    During my next chemotherapy session however, something happened that convinced me that I was right.
    They have recently changed my drugs. This means I get to wear a 'cold cap.' Back in September when the heat was intolerable I would have killed for a'cold cap' but sadly it wasn't an option then. Now however, now that I'm bald and the temperature has plummeted I have no choice.
    The cold cap is actually a helmet filled with a freezing heavy viscous fluid. It is used to promote hair growth once the chemotherapy treatment has finished. I became alarmed when nurse Audrey started to wrap the same thing around my ankles and wrists but she hastened to assure me that it was to stop my nails from discolouring. To complete the whole ensemble I have an eye mask for my lashes and brows.
    Nurse Audrey stepped back to admire her handiwork, patted my shoulder and disappeared. My husband also chose that moment to go for a coffee and I was left alone in my own private Alaska.
    I couldn't move, I couldn't see, I was freezing cold and I soon became overwhelmingly claustrophobic and scared. I reached blindly for the call button but succeeded only in dislodging my cold cap. The heavy fluid slowly flowed to the left hand side and settled in a solid mass. I honestly thought my neck was going to break.
    Then the door opened, soft footsteps approached the bed and strong gentle hands moved me back into position. My mask slipped slightly and I quickly caught sight of a tall man in a white coat. In silence he placed a stethoscope on my heart, held my hand briefly and then was gone.
    I spent the next fifty minutes wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and serenity dreaming of polar bear cubs and brown paper packages tied up with string.
    Nurse Audrey said that she was almost sure that there were no male nurses in the day hospital that morning. She and my husband exchanged glances before giving me 'that look.'
    Sighing with exasperation I reached over to the table to reclaim my jewellery and suddenly everything fell into place. Glinting on the bedside table was a sliver 'guardian angel charm bracelet' that my sister in law had sent a few weeks previously. I slid it onto my arm smiling to myself.
    I knew I hadn't been mistaken. I knew I had seen the signs.
    You see I do believe in angels and I believe in fairies, I believe that my husband is a saint (sometimes) and I have never doubted the existence of Santa Claus, most especially at this time of year.
    I believe... well actually I'll let Audrey Hepburn finish this blog - she hits the nail right on the head.
" I believe in pink. I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner. I believe in kissing, kissing a lot. I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe that happy girls are the prettiest. I believe that tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles." 

HAIR TODAY GONE TOMORROW & THE BALD TRUTH.

    Yesterday I went to the hairdresser to get my wig cut. Sounds surreal but I kid you not, it's amazing how quickly they grow.
    As I skipped out with my shiny new hair I was reminded of the last time I was there getting my  whole head shaved. Now that's a sentence I never thought I would hear myself say.
     It's amazing how quickly everything has happened, six months ago I had no inkling of things to come - thank God.
    And talking of things happening at speed, when your hair starts to fall, boy does it fall fast. It comes out in handfuls. Sweeping it up is a non stop operation from the moment you are awake.
    They advise you to use a sleeping cap to lessen the distress of seeing it framing the imprint of your head on the pillow in the morning. We live in South West France, it was mid September when all this was happening and it was still bloody hot. I had chosen a white muslin cap thinking it would be cool -  ('cool' as in not hot - not 'cool' as in trendy) it wasn't and as I also looked like a cast member from 'Little House on The Prairie' the cap lasted less than five minutes.
    It is of course not only from your head that your hair disappears, it departs from other areas too. I won't go into too much detail, suffice to say that as well as a sleeping cap the marvellous Macmillan's cancer website ought to consider recommending the use of sleeping knickers too.
    After several days of hair absolutely everywhere except where it should be I was ready to throw in the towel and I headed off to the hair salon to get the whole lot shaved. My normal reliable cliche of a camp hairdresser complete with tiny dog was away, so a trendy young stylist was assigned to me. Ignoring my pleas to use the clippers she attempted to fashion my few remaining clumps and I walked out looking like a cabbage patch doll.
    A few days later, accompanied by a mate for moral support, I marched back to the salon. Wiping tears of laughter from his eyes my hairdresser tried to tell me that the stylist need the practice. That much was obvious, but why? How many baldy chemotherapy clients was she likely to come across during her career? Anyway, finally out came the clippers, that is not a euphemism for anything, and I got the number 1 shave I had requested.
    Back home I went upstairs to the bathroom and l slowly took my headscarf off.  I stared back at an alien and I use that word deliberately. Forcing myself not to cry like a baby just because I looked like one I took a cleansing wipe and removed every trace of makeup and scrubbed my face clean.
    I used a magnifying mirror to examine my head and face in minute detail, manoeuvring it so that I was able to see myself from all angles. After a while I put the mirror down and stood staring at myself for a very long time. I closed my eyes and traced my face and head with my fingers like a blind person learning to recognise someone for the first time and I tried to picture 'me' in my mind's eye.
    And when I finally opened my eyes I cried. I cried like a baby, but they were tears of relief because I had done the thing I was dreading the most and it was OK. The woman staring back at me was still me, a strange me, a very different me, but definitely still me.
    I wouldn't go so far as to say it was like baring your soul but it comes a close second. Standing there without any artifice, without any adornment, no stray curl or sexy strand to soften or hide your features is actually quite liberating. The layers had been peeled away and I felt raw and vulnerable but also strangely powerful.
    And I realised another thing, I realised that I had quite a good shaped head, no lumps or bumps but smooth and nicely rounded..... like Sinead O'Connor but sadly without her voice, or indeed her amazing bone structure or her eyes, so OK not really like her at all, I'll shut up.
    Having said all that I still don't feel brave enough to face my public without any headgear and frankly I'm not sure they'd want that either.
    Now this is going to sound bizarre but to be honest I would rather wear a wig and be naked from the neck down than the other way around. Strange but true.
    I'm not sure why but the idea of stripping has always held an odd attraction for me. It doesn't run in the family, or not that I'm aware of, and it was certainly never mentioned during any careers advice at the all girls High School I attended but maybe I should have followed my instinct. I would have undoubtedly earned more money than during my acting career -  or indeed any career to date.
    I wonder if it's too late?
    I'm no 'poulet de printemps' but maybe there's a market for the more mature bald striptease act.
    I bet there is, there's a market for everything these days!

Coming soon to a town near you.... Janie Millman performing 'The Bald Truth.'