People ARE nicer

Just yesterday a friend told me she's been diagnosed with a recurrence.  She won't have to lose her hair, she said, and the chemo will be easy.  I hope so, because this is a very active woman!  Interestingly, she somewhat regrets that she won't go bald this go-around.  "Everyone was so nice to me when I was bald," she said.  I'd honestly been thinking the same thing the past few weeks.

The last time I was bald, I was pulled over by a state trooper for running a light at a major intersection.  The trooper approached my car and spoke to me very gently, asked for license and registration as he pointed out my misdeed.  I muttered that I was running late for an appointment (headed for radiation), and then realized that uncharacteristically, all of my documentation was left at home.  I had been in the process of renewing my registration when I'd left.  I had my license, that was all.  I also had a crack along the whole width of my windshield.  I told him honestly what had happened, and he wished me a nice day, asked me to please drive more carefully.

Another time, with some sort of scarf on my head, a stranger approached me in the Target parking lot and asked if he could pray for me.  He took my face in his hands and prayed to Jesus that I would become healthy.  It was comforting and promising, and a bit weird. 

Last week I was dressed up for an appointment, and had Jason take a few silly pictures of me before I put on my wig.  I got something like 33 comments on Facebook about how beautiful I am!  We're all beautiful, in my opinion, but I got told 33 times!  How cool is that!

Last night I went to a band parents' meeting, where I knew just about everyone.  Mostly everyone has seen me often in the past year, but I guess because I was wearing my pretty scarf, several people asked how I am feeling.

The answer:  I'm feeling great!  Perfectly well.  I look like a patient, but I don't think I look like I need pity.  I'm running all over in my favorite summer clothes, socializing, relaxing, traveling (went to Arizona to see Renee, and tonight I'm driving to North Carolina to get Allison).  Although I've been on chemo for 13 months tomorrow, it's only been obvious for the past few weeks.  It's kind of nice to know that when I need to take a seat, nobody will glare at me for not giving up the seat for a child or something.  I remember that afternoon at Macy's in May, when I felt so sick I nearly fainted, but was completely ignored by the sales associates right near me.  I bet that wouldn't happen now.  As an obvious cancer patient, they'd be by my side, bringing me the water I'd desperately needed.  As some strange healthy-looking woman with her head in her lap, I was looked upon with scorn. 

People are nicer when they know.  Baldness is my label.  It somehow makes me wish we could all have some sort of label when we're going through a rough time.  I wouldn't get so annoyed with that lady whose cart is blocking the entire aisle if I know she is thinking about her mother's very recent funeral.  I would be kinder if I knew the guy choosing vegetables to my left was just laid off from his job of 13 years and was delaying his return home.  Most of all, I wish children with autism could be readily identified, because I cannot stand to see the hatred directed toward those mommies who try extra hard every single day.  It's not realistic to expect all people to treat all others with kindness all the time.  We humans can be quite annoying.  But the label thing, it could help.  For now I'll appreciate my label.  And yet, I think I'd rather have hair and the scorn of Macy's employees.