I have been unable to focus on much else this week, but my upcoming shave for St. Baldrick’s/Pediatric Cancer Research tomorrow at Oakland Children’s Hospital. Friends are asking if I am nervous, and all I feel is excitement! I can see faces cringing back at me in horror, as they ask themselves (yes, faces ask themselves questions all the time,) how can this terribly deranged girl feel such a thing?
Any family who has been touched by childhood cancer knows why I am excited; they know exactly why I have chosen — this time– to go bald. When I read of another child who passed today, from childhood cancer, I fought back tears. Then, I decided I would let them go. I decided I would let that feeling of pain and torture and loss and helplessness and hopelessness penetrate my soul.
Now, I ask you to do the same. Imagine our most precious, most delightful humans on Earth suffering and dying from cancer.
I ask you now, “Would you not do the same to help them?”
Childhood cancer will continue its terror unless many, many of us do something. The “something” I can do tomorrow… through the help of many thoughtful and generous friends… is raise money for research that will help strangle the enemy called cancer.
Oh yes, cancer is my enemy. I will happily let those hairs fall to the floor tomorrow. As each individual hair falls to the floor, each one carries with it a prayer for the end of childhood cancer and a commitment to do all I can–hairless or with a head full of hair.
I just hope I don’t scare anyone… especially Debbie!
Mom and I were on our way home in the car, and we slid to a stop at the giant blue mailbox in front of our post office. Rolling down my window, I stretched out like a giraffe reaching for a leafy dinner. Plop!
The envelopes fell in and disappeared. Just then, a lady who works at the post
office, who we have known for years, came strolling out with a large container
to collect the pile of mail.
My first thought was, “Look! It’s Debbie!”
But then I recalled that my appearance was slightly different from when I’d seen her last.
“Oh crap! I’m bald!” I cried, fumbling for my beanie.
She neared the box—everything seemed like it was National Geographic slow. Not wanting to explain my whole story in my exhausted state, I scrambled, found my hat, and jammed it in an awkward way atop my head. Mom found an opening in the traffic, and we zoomed away. I felt like Mrs. James Bond.
Scream laughter erupted from Mom and me. That was a close one. There were times when we cried together, there were times when we laughed together, and there were times when we laughed and cried together. This was one of those moments.