THE MANE EVENT

I admit that I loved the '80's.  The music, the clothes, and most of all the HAIR.  In my imagination I was the queen of the jungle with my wild mane of permed and teased tresses.  You might be thinking that was the style of the decade, but I had a hard time letting go and was sporting the same hairdo in 2005.  The thought of losing my hair to chemotherapy was frightening not only because I would be bald, but because so much of my identity was wrapped up in that mess. 

The doctor told me that my hair would fall out after the third treatment.  I remember going to the barber shop with my Dad when he decided to shave his head completely.  My Dad was never one to follow the rules, and in true Jim Valvano fashion instead of his hair falling out it started growing back during his treatments.  Secretly I hoped that would be the case for me, but each morning I noticed more strands on my pillow and less on my head.  My Mom, sister Lee, and I had gone to a local wig shop and purchased two wigs, hats, and scarves.  I had a long version of curly hair that resembled my old hair and also a short one that made me look like a punk rocker.  I could not take the waiting any longer, and so one evening I sat on the bathroom floor with a towel in front of me and Lee whispering words of comfort into my ear while Matt shaved my head.  Honestly, I have a nice shaped head.  If I had decided to lose the hair as a fashion statement it might have been okay, but the realization that this was one more thing that cancer was taking from me resulted in a much deeper wound.

Most of the time I wore caps that I had ordered from a cancer catalog.  The wigs were hot an itchy and I never felt comfortable wearing them.  My older sister Nicole invited me and the kids to the mall one day. Trying my best to capture the old Jamie I got dressed, put on makeup, and wore the long, curly wig to complete my look.  Being around the children always made me feel better because I could escape into their world of innocence.  As I sat eating lunch at the food court with my family I almost felt like this was a normal day and I began to relax and enjoy myself.  A man stopped by the table to greet my sister and they began chatting.  It turned out he worked with my brother-in-law and Nicole introduced us and as we shook hands my nephew decided that more explanation was needed.  Between burger bites he simply stated, "that is not my Jommie's (his name for me) real hair.  She is wearing a wig."  So much for flying under the radar.  Unsure of the appropriate response, the poor man just mumbled something and shuffled away.  Nicole and I looked at each other and laughed until our stomachs hurt.  Pete is almost 10 years old now, but time has not changed the fact that you never know what is going to come out of his mouth.

Laughter is truly the best medicine.  I left the mall that day feeling more alive and free than I had in a long time.   5 years later, I am still not used to my short, straight hair.  I long for the days that it took me an hour to style in the morning. I now understand that I was hiding behind many things in my life because I did not want the world to see the real me.  When I look at pictures of myself today I see my smile and a depth in my eyes that only comes from walking in the truth.  I don't have the energy to pretend any longer.  Just like Pete did that day when he called out something that wasn't real, I desire for God to reveal to me anything in my world that is false.  I am learning to embrace what IS rather than spending all my time wishing for things to be different. I carry that bald woman inside of me each and every moment...she was a warrior...she was beautiful...she was just plain old Aunt Jommie in a wig...she was loved.