Last week I dreamt that my hair starting falling out in clumps. I cried with relief when I woke up and found it still firmly attached to my head.
It's the first time I've had such a dream since losing my hair to chemotherapy almost two years ago. Proof, I suppose, that the fear never really goes away. Even now that my hair is almost back to the pixie-length it was cut to just before chemo, I still keep thinking it's going to fall out and I'm constantly touching it to check it's still there.
For the last year and a half, I have taken a photo of myself almost every day using an app to track my hair growth. I started three months after chemo finished, which is why I look like a baby chick in the initial pics. I also went make-up free in all the photos so that I could track my eyelash and eyebrow growth - a whole year of no make-up selfies, if you will.
I've spent a small fortune on products to make my hair and eyebrows grow but I can honestly say the only thing that's had any effect - as with most things in life - is time. The slight bald patch on the top of my head might never go away, but I'm content with what I've got.
This week marks exactly two years since my diagnosis and I couldn't be happier to be alive. I'll be having regular hospital visits for the rest of my life and I won't have the official "two-year all-clear" until I've had an MRI scan at the end of the year, but at the moment I feel great, and if all I have to worry about is my hair then I'll be very happy indeed.