I was scrubbing my daughter’s sandy baby butt in the shower when I noticed the first chunks. We were enjoying a long-awaited family vacation at Lavallette Beach and had just come up from an afternoon on the sand.
Hair slithered down the back of my legs and collected on top of the drain. I ran my hands over my head and gathered slimy remnants of my hair.
Of course, cancer couldn’t give me an entire week without interruption. It had been almost too good to be true. Blissfully watching my kids trek through the sand, the sun coloring their hair all the while. Relatives scooped them up to allow me to catch myself up throughout the day. Gable and I enjoyed evenings on the upper deck watching the moon rise and hanging with relatives. It was almost too perfect.
As we drove back to Sussex County, my hair was fully detaching with each pass of my hand. I was hoping we could stave off the inevitable until it looked unbearable and buy as much time as I could with any remaining shag. But the following morning, I woke up to strands covering my pillowcase. Itchy little specks hid beneath my shirt collar and scratched my back. The waiting was ruthless, and I wanted it gone immediately.
My husband took me out on the back deck and leaned my head over the railing. The buzzer switched on, and I watched what remained of my face frame float down to the ground. Lennox ran laps between my legs, and Jet said he wanted to shave his head too. The result was a patchy buzzed mess from all hair falling at the root.
After a few days, I am moving closer to settling into this bald image. When I catch my reflection, it is not without surprise as I’ve never seen that person like this before. This war-torn image, dragging herself over hot coals, is finally my own. At long last, I look the part.
Kathlyn Ramsey Moore 