I am not a skinny model from New York. Even if I were, I wouldn’t choose to be bald. Losing my hair from chemotherapy was traumatic for me. The doctor forewarned me that I’d lose it all in about two weeks. After ten days, I began to think I’d be one of the rare, but fortunate ones who didn’t. Then it started. A hair here and a hair there. Then the comb brought fistfuls at a time. To keep from looking like a shedding porcupine, I had it all shaved off.

In the next two months I bought enough hats, wigs, and turbans to start my own millenary shop. I didn’t like any of them. They weren’t the real me.

The first time I ventured to the local grocery store without any head gear, I did a quick scout of the aisles to be sure nobody was there I knew. I was safe that day, but not always. A bald-headed woman may as well have "cancer" or "circus lady" tattooed on her forehand. Often rude people starred. If my baldness was allowing these jerks to read my mind, they certainly weren’t receiving good thoughts.

Eventually my lack of hair ceased to matter. I went everywhere, even to church, without a hat. I sat on the back row envying everybody else’s hair.

Maybe it sounds trivial, but I want to have hair when I am buried, my own hair. I have never cared for artificial anything, not mock mayonnaise, not fake flowers, and especially not synthetic hair.

When I was in my twenties, I taught first grade in a little Mississippi school. A child brought The Velveteen Rabbit for story time. I’ve read it many times since.

As the story unfolds, a poignant conversation takes place in the nursery. A well-worn rocking horse is asked by the new, stuffed bunny rabbit, "What does it mean to be real?"

The answer given by Skin Horse gently explains one of the most fundamental truths in the universe. The bumps of life may hurt and misshapen us in the process. Yet, when the outward appearance begins to lose any semblance of beauty, our real self is revealed.

In time, the bunny rabbit became faded and worn too. The boy never noticed . The rabbit was his fuzzy friend, his confident, his constant companion. Then the boy got sick with scarlet fever and the contaminated rabbit was discarded. The velveteen rabbit was rescued and revived by a magical fairy. In the end, the velveteen rabbit was whole again and better than new.

Happy endings in fairy tales evoke a good feeling. The fact that happy endings are possible in real life provides hope.

I have cancer. I may remain bald if I continue chemotherapy. It’s O.K., . . . really. As the Skin Horse said, "When you are real, you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand."