Lying there in the hot tub. Almost asleep in the warm waters. Suddenly a shock.
I have a moderately hairy chest. Makes up for the bald dome of a head of course. But yesterday, as I was continuing to feel a bit useless in the aftermath of chemotherapy, came horror.
I might be facing certain death from a lung cancer that mysteriously took over my non-smoker body. My face may be lopsided from the cruelty of Bell’s palsy.
But this horror was a pure vanity I never knew I had. I discovered a grey chest hair. I did a double take when I first spotted it. Indeed, it temporarily disappeared into its surroundings. But as I looked closely the harsh truth was confirmed. A single length of silvery hair mixed into my normal brown follicles was distorting my look.
Not that I’ve ever really considered myself as having a “look”, especially when exposed to the world in nothing more than swimming shorts.
But it appears I’m a man over fifty with grey hair. Singular. For now. It feels strange. Maybe it’s a small win over the cancer. “I will look old whether you let me get old or not”. I’ll take the win. Because I feel pretty rubbish right now as a result of the treatment.