south_plum
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∆ It had become instinctive, frantic and almost irrational. Since his first chemotherapy session, he runs his fingers through his hair all the time: every time he got up from a short period of sleep, after every meal, when he came out of the toilet, before sleeping and at several other times during the day. The little boy who shared his room must have thought he was crazy, he didn’t care, even if he never said anything.
It was not until around the sixth day, soon a week after his first session, that he began to lose some hair. It was only the beginning. His breath was caught in his throat at the sight of these bright strawberry blond threads. They wrapped themselves around his fingers and shouted ''look ? it happens'', like a strong burst of reality that was imposed in his vision. He had always had a deep fear of becoming bald one day, it was one of his most intimate secrets, and that is why he took great care of his locks, swallowing curatives pills. It brought keratin and all the vitamins needed to grow and maintain his scalp.
He frantically rubbed his palm on his sheets, as if he had received a bunch of acid all over him, getting rid of the strands of hair.∆