Why am I asking you for sponsorship?

As most of you are aware I spent 18 glorious months as a perfectly bald sixth former whilst undergoing treatment for an alveolar rhabdomyosarcoma.

Given I was your typically image conscious teenager, trying to navigate a new school, new friends and my own nascent sexuality, loosing my hair was something I absolutely dreaded.

It would mark me out as the cancer kid.

I was lucky enough to be able to afford a human hair wig and, flanked by my godmother and mum, visited a wig maker before I lost my hair. The posters showed the eye wateringly expensive wigs they'd made for the Harry Potter films and rich orthodox Jewish ladies. I decided I wanted an Agness Deyn inspired pixie cut and they meticulously matched my natural colour, hand sowed the wig into the fabric and not long after my first chemo session arrived the wig...

It was comfortable and the hairnet practically invisible but the cool pixie cut I had in mind looked decidedly middle aged on me. At this point embarrassed by the cost I turned to Topshop's range of synthetic wigs in store. They were itchy and hot. They invariably looked fake and they tangled even worse than my natural hair had, breaking when brushed.

Wig shopping became an expensive hobby whilst I wore them returning to school, after about a week it was clear that my plan to pretend I hadn't lost my hair was foiled. Nethertheless, I persisted in wearing them all term long despite the discomfort and poor deception. They gave me the confidence to focus on being a teenager and an A Level student. A comfort blanket that let me blend in.

By the summer holidays, I was absolutely bald as an egg. I'm only aware of one photo taken during that time in a brief R&R weekend to Cliveden to recover from more invasive treatment that I underwent that summer to avoid the impact on my studies. I hated it so much I scratched the emulsion clean off the photograph in the album.

As luck would have it, once September rolled round again, I found my new friends and old alike didn't treat me like the cancer kid. I learnt to embrace my 'ducky fuzz' as my friends dubbed my sparse blond baby hair that sprouted once the most aggressive phase of my treatment was over. I did repeatedly get mistaken for a boy, the lead singer of the XX or a lesbian for years as my hair grew back but once I knew I was going to survive, living life became more important than how others perceived me.

Nearly 15 years later I'd like to pay it forward. Each LPT wig costs £550 to get into the hands of a child or young person affected by cancer. They're not just beautiful, comfortable, natural wigs that I hope give other young people the semblance of normality they crave, but also fund the sorts of research and care that allow them to live the lives they always wanted, like I have.

About the Charity