Spring Break 2005
“My hair fell out,” my mom said with a forced laugh made even more hollow by the cell phone.
“What? All of it?” I replied.
“Well, most of it. I took a shower, and it came out……..
I need to shave off the rest. You have sheers?”
A long pause.
“I’ll be right there, “ I said as I clicked off the phone.
I found her sitting on the deck at the trailer, head exposed to the sun and ocean breezes. Big clumps had fallen out. It was uneven and odd looking, like she had decided to become a punk rocker and get a Mohican. Red or green dye should be next.
“Well, not all of it,” I said with a hug. "I didn't think it would come out after the first infusion.
She seemed calm, steady. “Well, it did. I just want it all gone. It’s going anyway. I’d rather not have it fall out in dribs and drabs. Let’s get it all.”
You can read the rest of the story in a revised version in Chicken Soup for the Soul: A Tribute to Mothers.
8 comments:
I don't know exactly what to say. When I saw your blog had been updated I thought, "Oh, good, I'll comment and say 'I'm so glad you're back!'". Then I read it...
I am still glad you wrote, you shared all this, but in a sad way, since your experience is so heartbreaking...
I can't help but let the tears run, and think that if that happened to my mother I wouldn't know what to do. Move to Brazil with my two boys(3 and 1) to take care of her? That would probably be the only way, leaving husband and father behind, but I'd be there for her, no matter what.
Well, I'll be thinking of you, your mom and your daughter often, and wishing you strenght and courage to go on -- even though I can see that you already have them. Yes, but it must be hard having to "mother", in a sense one's own mother, besides one's child.
Thanks again for sharing...
Thanks, Lillian. I've been absent from my blog because of legal and job reasons as well as personal ones, but this is a story I needed to share. Period. And once I started, I felt so much better.
I appreciate your kind comments.
I'm glad you're back. And thank you so much for sharing this beautiful story. My sister had her head shaved when her hair began to fall out after her first chemo, and her insurance company refused to pay for a wig. Ironically, she herself is a bigwig in that same insurance company, and when she walked bravely into the conference room bald-headed, she was WRITTEN UP FOR NON-PROFESSIONAL APPEARANCE. However, being her, she turned the experience into a change in the insurance company policy; they now shell out the dough for a wig. Can you believe those guys? I must say, however, that your mother's "G.I.Jane" comment really made my day. I've passed it on to my sister.
Mamacita--
What a story! It's sad that change has to be forced like that, but what guts! I am impressed.
As I move through this world of cancer treatment that is so new to me, I am continually amazed at the power of the women I meet. My best to your sister.
--Amy
Amazing piece of prose - your mother sounds like one strong and amazing lady. Strength to both of you in the coming months
Guusam--
Thanks for the compliment, and the good wishes.
--Amy
Beautiful. Just beautiful. My husband has stage IV cancer of the aggressive kind, and you so wonderfully capture the resentment I feel when his diagnosis precedes him. As a man, losing his hair (as well as the various permutations in color and texture it has undergone during chemotherapy) is not at all the same as it is for a woman; he is able to treat his changing appearance as a kind of bizarre science project--bald and bloated to gaunt like a romantic poet.
You and your mother and your daughter have my thoughts and wishes for healing.
Your writing touches the heart in such a beautiful and meaningful way. Please know the gift you hold in your hands. The world longs for more of your expression...
(I'm so glad I discovered your link on americanconscience.org.)
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