This morning, I get my foot x-rayed again. Pulling a T-shirt over my head wipes off the smear of sweat already glistening on my bald head. It feels like 70 degrees in my bedroom, yet stuffy weather is nothing compared to prednisone withdrawal hot sweats I’ve been tossing in bed with all night. My mirrored reflection shows joy, not irritation; this is the last prednisone sweat I’ll be enduring! I rumple through my Tupperware hat bin; none of my ‘summer’ hats appeal to me, and I shudder at wearing a crocheted one.
“Sassy”, the wig on my dresser, catches my eye. Sassy is lovely. Sassy eased me into baldness and makes me look good under her locks, so why am I staring at the un-sassy, death-white Styrofoam wig head? I feel alive, not a lifeless bald head that needs covering. I want to be comfortable more than acceptable.
I scamper down the steps as fast as hobbling on one crutch allows me to scamper, bald, ear-ringed, feeling powerful. Jay’s mom is driving me to Crossroads Imaging. Before I go out the door, she hovers, asks if I want a hat or my wig. I hesitate, mumbling I’m too hot for a hat, my head itches, and I’m only seeing a technician who already knows I have lymphoma. Jay notices the awkwardness and says “If you want to leave the house bald, go for it!” His kindness ends my hesitation and propels me out the door. Mother smiles and jumps in the car, I have no idea what she really thinks but her silence feels like a gift.
Since I enjoy observing people, my outing becomes more than an exercise in personal freedom. Always curious about human behavior, my own included, I notice responses in me and in others. A man catches a glimpse of my shining white dome and quickly looks at the sidewalk. After he passes though, he looks back. My smiling eyes meet his; he sheepishly turns and hurries on.
Limping through the door of Imaging, I call out a cheery good morning to those inside. The receptionists smile and make eye contact while everyone in the waiting room immediately looks down. I stifle a compassionate grin, remembering how often I’ve done the same. I sit and wait for my turn, feeling everyone’s eyes checking out my head and foot, catching furtive glances when people think I’m not aware. I’m delighted with how little I care about their thoughts of me, not my typical attitude. I do care about them, their curiosity, and humanity. I’d love to laugh and say, stare if you want, ask me questions if you want, I don’t mind.
I’m not writing to make generalizations about human behavior, or to state my wish for greater boldness and less concern with what people think. I’ve never longed to be ‘bald and beautiful’ either. All are appropriate surely, but some other understanding wants to unfold. I’m intrigued knowing I’ve spent much of my life observing rather than participating. My fondness for observing requires blending in, so it’s counter intuitive making scenes or disrupting the status quo. Deeper than my personality quirks is the curious question - do I feel the need to protect people from discomfort, from my bald head, from cancer? In protecting others, am I also protecting myself?
Stepping outside today, bald, beautiful or not, may feel powerful and freeing for me, but it also forces everyone I meet to deal with what they see, to notice their comfort or discomfort, to decide: will I wear my polite mask, the mask that says ‘what you do, who you are, and how you are, doesn’t touch me or affect me’. Isn’t this what we protect ourselves from, really? We just want to get our errands done without interruption, without being affected by another because anything deeper slows us down. It’s a risk being open to self discovery, to another’s joy, sorrow, illness, impracticality, freedom, life or death. The truth is: my very being will always affect others, as will others always affect me. Am I brave enough to notice, to reflect, knowing what I discover may ask me to change, to grow, to love more?
I certainly don’t advocate walking around being open to all; this culture isn’t nearly rested and renewed enough. I don’t think one response can be judged against another. Usually, we are too hard on ourselves and critical of our responses. At the same time, I am sure this elusive quality of openness is highly attractive in our fast-paced, indifferent culture. Being aware helps me be gentle with myself. So, I honor my initial hesitation. And I honor yours if you run into me and my bald head out on the street.
Joyfully,
Sharon
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