
“There,” I say. “Not so bad, is it? Mommy’s a fierce woman warrior now.” I bend my elbow and make a muscle. The girls giggle.
I have to laugh for them. I have to be strong for them.
“Just give me a few minutes, okay?” I walk into my bathroom, close the door, sit on the toilet, and sob.
Leave me alone.
Tilting my head forward, like the directions say, I place the front of the wig to the front of my hairline, where my hair should be, then slide it on.
Feel confident, empowered and beautiful in your new wig, the instructions read.
In the mirror a stranger stares back—weak, powerless. I see her ghostly image. She looks raw, bound, and scared.
A limited lifespan—must be taken care of properly, I read.
Haven’t I taken care of myself properly?
Feelings of anger and betrayal rise up. I’m a healthy person, damn it. I exercise, hike, and eat right—this is not fair!
Ugly you. What a burden you’ve become. Your daughters are embarrassed by you.
“Mamma, can you wear a hat when you take me to school?” Lindsay has asked me this every time I feel strong enough to drive. But then I feel ashamed, like I should be hiding. I’ve abandoned both my girls at their tender ages. When did I play with them last? David and I have no intimacy now. I don’t want to be touched. When will he get sick of my sick, I wonder.
“You can always get it styled,” my mother says.
“Mommy has hair again!” The girls cheer, skipping into their room to play.
“I feel like such a fraud,” I say, defeated. I grab a blanket, cocooning myself from the outside, and lay on the couch.
“Mamma’s okay,” I croaked from the bed. “It’s strong medicine to get the yucky stuff out.”
“Oh you can,” David says to me.
“Why did I say yes? How can I let myself be poisoned?” My voice waivers. I hate hospitals, fluorescent lights, and antiseptic smells. I hate appointments and pills, being poked and prodded, stripped of dignity.
“I want my life back!” I shout.
“We made a decision. You said you’d do anything to fight this, including chemo, remember? Don’t second guess it hon, you’ll drive us all crazy.”
I fall silent. Then ever so slowly, I pull myself up and walk into the bathroom, where the white box sits. I lean into the mirror, up close, searching for my soul. I am bald, breastless, green inside. Yet, in those sad, vacant eyes, I detect it. A shard of light— that strong, able, capable me.
Anne Burgess / Swirls CC BY 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons