It's just hair

In two more weeks, I will be bald. Every day I am reminded of this fact by a friend or coworker who asks about the date, my reasons, or how they can help support the cause. To be honest, I am more than a little nervous about this experience. With only two weeks left, the anticipation grows. I keep humoring myself by saying that I will have two whole months to play dress-up with my new wigs.

For those of you wondering, I ended up purchasing three wigs so far--a long blond, a medium-length brunette, and a short red-headed wig. This way, on any given day, I can be whichever Charlie's Angel I want to be-- Farrah, Jaclyn, or the other one! I picked styles and colors that are far different than what I currently sport. If I am going to be wigging it, I might as have some fun along the way.

Even though I made the informed decision to participate in St. Baldrick's, silly thoughts run through my head as I prepare for this event. For example, I spend a lot of time worrying about the process of washing my wigs. Just how washable are synthetic wigs anyway? Will the styles keep after washing? And if not, how do I style them? Since I can't use my blow dryer, how long will it take for my wigs to dry?

No longer is it a matter a jumping in the shower and washing my hair each morning. For at least two months, I will actually have to schedule washing and drying my various hairs. Then, when I inevitably tell a fellow that I can't go out with him that night because I have to "wash my hair"--I'll be totally serious. Yet, he'll think I'm just blowing him off.

I think about any upcoming appointments at the office and what sort of impression I'll be making with my daily wig of choice. I think about meeting new friends or even friends of friends. "I don't look like this in real life," I can hear myself saying. "In two months I'll be myself again."

I wonder what it will feel like to sleep on a bald head and whether it will itch as it grows out. I worry that I have some unknown dent in my head or a scary-looking mole. I wonder if I will have to forgo salsa dancing or miss riding in a car with the hood down. I wonder if my hair will be back in time for my 20th class reunion.

Then, I have dinner with my friend Faith, who is battling cancer. Or hear a news report about the loss of Dana Reeves.

It's just hair.

All my silly and obsessive thoughts are muted. I'm reminded of what's really important, how lucky I am, and how unfair this life can be. I'd certainly give up more than my hair if it would keep Faith here with her family and with me. And I wish that I really knew Charlie ,or anyone else who knew an angel or two, so that I could beg, barter, or do whatever it took to rid us of this burden called Cancer.