Journal of a Living Lady #56

Nancy White Kelly

 

 

Incognito. I like that word, but it doesn’t apply to me. There is something about a chubby, single breasted, bald-headed woman porting an oxygen tank that draws attention. I am not paranoid, but I know when people are gawking. In fact, I wish I had a dollar for every neck I heard pop a vertebrae these past two weeks. The only thing that might have drawn more attention is if I were a “necked”, half-breasted, chubby, bald-headed woman with an oxygen tube up my nose. Sorry. Buddy doesn’t even get to see me like that. I still have some pride.

 

The last time I was bald from chemotherapy I wore hats and wigs most of the time. I shopped at weird hours and sat on the back row in public places. This time there are usually no props except for really special occasions. You get what you see unless my head is cold. Hopefully I will have a chance to look normal again, but for now I am a poster woman for cancer.

 

On Day 10, following the six-hour infusion of toxic chemicals that kills good cells as well as more of the bad ones hopefully, my hair started shedding. When I shook my head from side to side, hair flew in both directions. When I got up from a nap, a nest of hair remained on the pillow. In less than a day, my head looked like it had a fight with a weed eater and lost. To keep from looking like a dead lawn struggling to retain a few blades of uneven grass, I completely shaved my head in the shower. I have a lot more empathy for men now who shave everyday.

 

While still in the bathroom, I looked at myself in the full-view mirror. I laughed. It beat crying. With a sarong or a thong, I could have passed for a summa wrestler. I went into the adjacent bedroom, popped a Tootsie Pop in my mouth and pretended to be a Mrs. Kojak instead. For those of you too young to remember, he was a handsome bald-headed detective who loved those suckers.

 

Being bald in the land of hair has a few advantages. Everyday is “No Hair Day,” so I get to sleep a little longer. Buddy has more face to kiss now. Should I ever have severe head trauma, and I surely hope not, my baldness could save the neurologist 2-3 minutes of prep time.

 

While I can make fun of my own baldness, understand that it isn’t funny or nice to do so with others.  Unless you know them well and have an excellent rapport, it could have bad consequences. Even the Bible makes that clear. If you are skeptical, this is what it says in 2 Kings 2:23-24: “ From there Elisha went up to Bethel. As he was walking along the road, some youths came out of the town and jeered at him. "Go on up, you baldhead!" they said. "Go on up, you baldhead!" He turned around, looked at them and called down a curse on them in the name of the Lord. Then two bears came out of the woods and mauled forty-two of the youths. “

 

Reminds me of a little rhyme I heard recently.  “God is great. God is fair. To some he gave brains, the others hair!”

 

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