I'm Not Sick, I'm Just Bald

Lately, I've found comfort in a phrase that came to me while I was praying one morning.

"I'm not sick; I'm just bald."

I didn't realize it until that moment, but it's hard to be bald. I think its hard (especially since I'm a woman) because it means that everywhere I go people have to think I must be sick. What else could they think?

Well, they could think I'm a punk rocker or alternative kind of chick, like Shanay O'Connor. They could think I've got more hair under my hat than they can see. Or, more likely, they could not even notice.

At least I've got a good hat; that's all I can say. One good hat. Sometimes I wear a bandanna (when I'm weary of the hat,) but my son and husband say, hands down: the hat is best.

It's a black hat with a rim all around, that I turn up in front. I bought it before I even needed it, along with some others. But those others just don't cut it. This black hat is the best.

I actually like it so much, I tried sleeping in it. Not comfortable. So I tried a bandanna. That was funny: there's a little knot at the base of your scull all night; plus, it keeps shifting all night.

What I probably need is one of those sleeping caps. But I've resisted buying one because I feel like the character in one of those Christmas carols. (And really old.)

Thankfully, I'm starting to develop a bit more of a fuzz. Not exactly a five o'clock shadow, since it's blond and the hairs can't be seen...but a 2-day shadow. Still...it's almost invisible, since it's blond, right?

Whatever the case, I keep saying to myself: I'm not sick, I'm just bald. That's because I'm not sick. I'm one of those in complete remission even before going on to the allo. And that's a blessing I thank God for.

As for hair, I'll thank God for that when it grows so long that I don't need my black hat.