“Do you care what you look like? Because cosmetically, you will be unattractive.”
One of my Doctors told me that three years ago when all this hullabaloo began. Surgery, radiation, chemo, the fact is, no matter what you do, cancer is going to muck with your general appearance.
All this to say, I am now bald. After four cycles of this three drug cocktail, my hair surrendered. “No mas.” I went into my hair stylist. I know, the fact that my hair would need anything approaching a “style” is laughable, but I have too much money and I don’t play golf so I have to throw it away on something.
Anyway, Anne buzzed away the remaining soldiers yesterday. Now, I have rocked the exact same hairstyle for fifty-one years. It killed with the ladies at pre-school so why press my luck – right?
Still it was a little traumatizing to see what little was left finally disappear. Maybe it was vanity, maybe it was finally submitting to the inevitable or maybe it was because I was worried it would make me look – cancery. Whatever the reason, it was weird, but the deed was done and my new life as a bald dude had begun. When I tried to pay her, she refused to take the money. You see, Anne does this on a fairly regular basis for cancer patients – always for free. If they can make it into the shop, she’ll do it there, if not she’ll go to their houses, or to the hospital. It’s just something she does. No fuss, no sad eyes, she just does what needs to be done, effortlessly making it seem like losing all your hair is the most natural thing in the world. Then with a smile, she’s on her way.
You live in these shoes long enough and you find the world is filled with people like Anne. I don’t know if I knew that three years ago.
I do now.