My flower girl hair was maintained by my Mum . When the A.A arrived, Mum had her work cut out for her because whilst at first, it wasn’t too bad because there were two relatively small patches, when the determined 11 year old refused to continue with the cortisone shots, the patches grew. Temple and Nape of scalp patch alike. It was like they were competing because it seemed like virtually overnight, they went from the size of a 5 pence piece to the size of ginger biscuit. Why a ginger biscuit, you ask? Because in the interests of thoroughly upsetting myself by confirming how dire the situation was becoming, I chose to hold up a ginger biscuit against Temple Patch . Now getting the aforementioned biscuit was not easy because: 1. My parents felt that sugary food was to be rationed to avoid unnecessary expenditure on dental visits. 2. My dad thought it was character building for us to watch him sitting on the steps outside the kitchen door as he casually ate his ginger biscuits whilst we finished our sitshwala and beans. We knew that to approach without making the appropriate preparations would end badly. So we would make sure we came running when called or sent to do something and gave him no reason to doubt our ‘good child’ status. Even then, you were more likely to get a no than a yes to ‘make you realise how hard life can be’ he’d say. On this day, it was not my day to have my character built. I got a biscuit. And then I wandered off into the bedroom to watch myself in the mirror as I ate my bounty. Whilst nibbling away, my eyes drifted to Temple Patch. It was obviously bigger, but how much bigger? Hence the biscuit being held against Temple Patch. And it was confirmed that Temple Patch was the same size as a ginger biscuit. This was the beginning of PatchWatch: The Series.
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Requirements
Method Take the frightened 11 year old to the GP, who will then inform the Father that stress is a contributory factor to the MAA. This will activate the ‘telling off’ function, because who has ever heard of a stressed 11 year old child? Following the diagnosis, the GP will refer to the Dermatologist as the GP didn’t go to Skin School. The Dermatologist will then inform the family that he is ‘busy so you’ll have to wait 2 months before an appointment’. A month is sure to lead to greater loss of hair (1 patch became 2). The Mother will then take the child to see the Dermatologist, but prior to him touching her child’s head, she must firmly insist that the Dermatologist washes his hands (because he clearly had no intention of washing them). The Dermatologist will nod and confirm the diagnosis, then make an appointment for the child to receive appropriate treatment. A month is adequate to ensure that both patches are larger and require ‘creative’ hair styles and the first patch made it to her temple. The Mother will dutifully present the child at the appointed time; then again insist that the Dermatologist wash his hands before touching the child (he was miffed and was about to protest but, seeing the mother’s frown, closed his mouth and opted to comply). At this point, the needles come out resulting in screaming and general hysteria from the child who has not been told that needles will be involved. Being a Nurse Tutor, the Mother was well aware, but had chosen not to share this information with the child. This is why you’re only just hearing it too! The Dermatologist will then take those evil needles and administer a total of 8 cortisone shots – 4 at regular intervals around the patch. It will be painful. For 3 months the child will be made to have the shots. She will cry like a child with no hope. Cream Soda won't cure the pain or calm her nerves, so the Parents will resort to that well known parenting method – the threat. The threat to:
The Father will come for the last 2 months until the child’s cries break him and the 3rd month’s treatment will be her last. My name is AfroBren and I have Mild AA. And I STILL have depressions in my skull caused by the cortisone injections all those years ago. From a young age, I was taught that having beautiful hair was something to aspire to. The ‘stretchingcomb’ would come out for church and other special occasions that required fancy hair, whilst the ‘scratchingcomb’ was wielded to prepare my hair for school which comprised of mainly African threading and, if you had an auntie ‘with hands’ (insert someone able to cornrow/plait without destroying your edges), then you had cornrows or plaits. My hair was long and healthy - perfect for flower girl duty! In retrospect, it was all due to my Mum’s hard work, and when I asked my Mum about the mixes she made for my hair, they were some of those that I have re-discovered and am using in my current hair journey: castor oil, coconut oil and a touch of glycerine (but not when she wanted to stretch my hair because glycerine made it revert to its curly state – a fringe no-no). My hair flourished under my Mum’s care, so I’m going to make sure that I refer to her wisdom going forward so I can go back to feeling like herinthephotograph. Look at the confidence in that pose! Oh to be that self-assured again! |
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April 2016
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