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.

Support Roy Castle Lung Cancer Foundation. They’ve supported me.