The Day After
I’ve been getting a lot of notes in the last day or so.
“Did you go through with it?”
“How’s it look, Kojak?”
“Hair today, gone tomorrow?”
“Post a picture.”
Stuff like that. People are wanting to see the new me. They’re curious. Inquisitive.
Or they want to get it over with.
But I thought I would wait until John Clanton, the videographer/photographer for this series, has time to do something with the raw footage. After all, he was kind enough to accompany me on my strange head-shaving journey to Zen Salon in Norman yesterday. I want to honor his efforts by giving him a little time to do his magic.
Besides John, it was just Skye (who cuts my hair) and me. Oh yes, there was also some other girl watching, with a somewhat horrified look on her face.
The whole shaving experience was, to be truthful, a little awkward. I was slightly nervous and a bit sad. John was professional about it, but I think he was catching my melancholy vibe. Skye was kind, but I could tell she was feeling sorry for me. In fact, she said “I’m sorry” several times, as if she’d nicked my ear with the razor.
Anyway, it was all over pretty quickly. We started with a “3″ razor, but that didn’t look all that great. So we switched to a “1″. That didn’t look so great either, but it was about as good as it was going to get.
And then, as the last hairs hit the floor, my mad scientist look was gone, and I joined the many thousands if not millions who have gone through this same surreal experience. I tried to play the reporter during the ordeal, for the role of disinterested third party sounded much better than the role of victim. But the mirrors made that difficult, and whenever I caught a glimpse of myself I was anything but disinterested.
Now it’s the day after, and I’m still “adjusting.” Most of the time I’ve had a hat on, but every now and then I’ve gone bare, so to speak.
If you’re curious and want to see me, well, you’re probably going to have to wait or run into me somewhere. My wife and kids have seen me, of course. And I briefly took the hat off for the good folks at NorthHaven Church this morning, for they were kind enough to invite me to do a reading. I also showed the neighbors.
But that’s about as far as I’ve gotten.
Tomorrow it’s chemo again, and then I’ll be dead in bed for who knows how long. But by Thursday, if you happen to be in Norman, Ada, or Oklahoma City and you see some pale as a ghost guy with one arm, dark glasses, and a hat, it’s probably me. Or else you’ve stumbled upon the longest of long shots.
You can always check by taking off the guy’s hat and seeing if his head has been shaved by a number “1″ razor.
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When I read this column in the Daily Oklahoman, Jim, I was reminded about one of my former Mount Saint Mary High School students, who now is all grown up and is a mother of two and the sales manager for a Marriott motel in Texas. She lives with end stage adrenal cancer and is a patient at National Institute of Health (finally, something of meaning for my tax dollars to support!). When Jennifer faced losing her hair the first time while her young son watched every change in his mother, Jen decided that her son would participate in the emancipation of her hair. Patrick took part in shaving his mother’s head. Of course, he thought this was great. I thought she had the wisdom of Solomon.
It seems that it isn’t enough for some diseases to kill us on a daily basis, but rather they want to exact some kind of revenge or humiliation out of us while we raise our fists and fight to the end. I am comforted by the sonnet “Death Be Not Proud.” After all, once that moment has come and gone, now whatcha gonna do, death? Thou shalt die, too, you ol’ scumbag!
This morning I awoke at 4am with a nosebleed..(it’s just my sinuses) but it made me think about you..I prayed for you..in the shower this morning, I again prayed that today, if only today, your body will work correctly and the chemo will not ravage your body as it usually does..God bless you..Please remember this..it is my favorite short essay..
It is not the critic that counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes up short again and again; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows the triumph of high achievement; and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat…
Remember..those ‘cold and timid souls’ are your critics…