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Every day as I opened my wardrobe and my wigs are there.

Every day as I brush wash & prepare my wigs, hoping no one walks in. 

Every day as I open oven doors or light fires, differently, carefully or my wig will melt.  

Every windy day as I grip up or hood up to stop wig flying off. Every communal changing room for a swim as little voices express what adults dare not say but look. Every swimming cap reveal,  every hot day or sunny destination where scarves reappear as does the chemo girl and sympathetic looks, wigs too hot no matter what I try.

 Every hospital stay or examination or treatment where wig comes off and have to explain or prepare staff or patient in wards in the morning or the evening and they make kind comment with sad eyes etc, 

Every eyebrow refresh tattooing to give me back 'eyebrows'  lost for ever. 

Every compliment I get from people who want to know how I achieved that colour on my 'hair' unknowingly & I smile sweetly say thank u once more reminded I'm excluded from the joy of hairdressers pampering & chatting about hair do's.

Every new relationship, though I've barely dared I'm faced with 'the disclosure' and how will they react. 

Every never stops. I'm 10 years on....and this IS my life. 

And every year when my local hospital are willing to contribute £20 to one wig per year of a type & nature that isn't realistic and I have to pay £110 for the rest of that awful wig as am mot even allowed choice. It will last 6 months. I use it for gardening and decorating in.

Every year I have to see a specialist first and ask for that script and be assessed...... before achieving the £20 contribution and its never offered I have to ask. Every year makes me realise how little my hospital cares. 

by Ange

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