Hair

Bill Cosby says, "If you can find humor in anything, you can survive it." May Sarton took this perhaps a bit further when she said, "Each day, and the living of it, has to be a conscious creation in which discipline and order are relieved with some play and pure foolishness." I have both of these quotes posted discretely on my wall at work among the have-to-do pages that come and go with time. The quotes have followed me for years here, and time can almost be counted like the rings of a tree by the layers upon layers of tape that hold them in their present place.
So what has this got to do with hair? Humor and my perspective on hair definitely correspond in my present world. After my first chemo treatment, the hair fell out in great gobs. My younger cat was quite enamoured with it. He collected it and secreted it behind my couch. Whenever my older cat attempted to check it out, he became quite possessive about his cache. I must admit, I sort of enjoyed their antics. It put things into perspective. So I decided to get a wig.
I went to the shop at the Cancer Institute where you can get all sorts of replacement things. I tried on many wigs that each had a woman's name, like Wendy, Laura, Marcie, and so on. For the life of me, I can't remember the name given to the wig I finally chose. Probably something that ended with the e sound. A lady who volunteers there works on the wigs used weekly on Saturday Night Live, and she filled me in on all the wiggy things to know as well as shaped the wig nicely to my head. Looked pretty good to me. I left with it in an attractive bag that discretely held the sytrofoam head that held my wig.
Upon arrival at home, I sat the bag on the counter and went directly to the restroom. When I came out, I heard a commotion and was almost run over in the hallway by the younger cat who was rolling the styrofoam head along as he attacked it vigorously. Then I went into the living room and found the older cat lunging around the room, growling and shaking the wig as if she had captured a wild creature. Ok, I thought, once more the cats have put things into perspective for me. Forget the wig.
And so, for the past five months or more I have moved from hats, lots of different hats, to au natural. My head is not pointy, and actually, it is sort of a classic shape. Nobody has fainted upon seeing it, nor have they burst into laughter or even tears (gratefully). In fact, some male waiters have actually referred to me as Miss rather than Madam. Not bad. I could get into this. But there are drawbacks, the primary one is winter in New York City. It gets cold outside so two hats are needed. My students have taught me that layering hats is an art form. You put the tight one on first that shapes to your head, then you put the baseball type cap on backwards with the tag showing, or else the leather biker type cap backwards with the tag showing. Something about the tag showing holds great importance and they assure me that it allows me to enter and leave any neighborhood in any borough, a regular urban visa.
Now the treatments have ended, at least for now. It's been six weeks and, as Natalie the department secretary announced quite happily at work yesterday, "Oh look, your hair is sprouting." And I replied,"Ah so it is. And I haven't even watered it today." Yes, it is "sprouting," and not too evenly yet I'm afraid. I think this will be yet another adventure because much of it is coming in platinum blond, while the remainder seems quite reluctant. Not only is growing slower, but it is not definitive aboutits shade yet to be determined. Oh, and my younger cat is taken by the "sproutings," too. He licks them. And my older cat doesn't even growl. I think she's still looking for the wig because she is constantly stalking the closet.