HAT HEAD

We had a wonderful weekend up in the mountains with perfect weather and dear friends in from out of town. I'm feeling better and better-- my hand & arm are even ok as long as I don't work on the computer (too bad I have a desk job.) I can "legally" lift Liam and go back to work in less than a week-- so my life is tracking toward normal, which is where I've so (hypothetically) longed for it to be all these months. My hair is even long enough to get "hat head" after wearing a baseball cap. I am no longer "marked" as a cancer/chemo patient (although folks probably think I need a new hairstylist).

Last week I heard a touching commentary on NPR by Debra Jarvis: Sorry About the Cancer, How's Your Hair.:

It's not about the hair, but that's one of the first things people ask about when I told them I had breast cancer. "Will you lose your hair?" Some people just assumed I would. "There goes the hair!" one of my friends said, trying to be light and funny. I looked at her and thought, "You've got terrible hair, you'd love for me to lose mine." Having cancer is not bringing out out the best in me.
But the thing is, it's not really about the hair, it's about death. People die from cancer all the time, but it's so impolite to say, "Will you lose your life?" It's much easier to ask about the hair. Because if you don't lose your hair, you can almost pretend that you don't have cancer.

When you're bald, you are marked. You can't pretend that things are normal. So logically, now that I'm not bald, things should be more normal, right?

Why don't I feel normal?

At least when I was in treatment and bald I had a (good) excuse to feel bad-- tired, scared, selfish, and (morethanalittle) crazy. Some brave people (eventhough I had been known to mock them) would ask "How are you?!" with that look and (gasp) even give me a hug. But now that I'm "better" it's passe-- I feel guilty bringing it up in conversation (eventhough it's been most of my life this past year) Been There Done That. whatever.

So why do I lie awake at night, gritty-eyed and exhausted-- figgity and agitated bordering on panic (gotosleepgotosleepwhycan'tIjustgotosleep?!) So I'm still uncomfortable, so I still get sore. I've come so far... blah blah... So I just don't see how in a week I will magically be better enough to be up to full speed with the kids and at work. I've got hair, dammit!

Debra Jarvis continues:

It's not about the hair, but people want to make it about the hair because it's so hard to listen about fear, and pain, and grief.

Yeah yeah yeah, when can I get back to before?

My grandmother told me about how my grandfather was in a terrible accident when my uncle was a baby (before my mom was born). He got hit by a car and was in a coma for several months. Amazingly, my grandmother supported her family while taking care of my uncle & grandfather until he woke up and recovered-- which is one of the many things I admire about her-- but what stuck with me about the story is that she said he was a different person after the accident... a quicker temper and a changed personality.

"So my mom never knew her "real" Dad?" I asked. "Not really," she replied.
"Would you have married him if you met him after his accident?"
"Probably not," she responded.

I want the "real" me back. But in my heart, I know it left for good with the hair.