With my thumb, I applied pressure to the "On" switch. The small instrument in my hand buzzed to life as electricity pumped through it. The electric razor was vibrating. It tickled my palms as it sat in my hand. The blades, protected by a safety catch, moved back and forth in fast secession. It was clean and ready to go; I knew it would get the job done in no time.
I needed the closest shave possible.
I shifted back and forth, trying to get comfortable and firmly planted on the newspaper beneath my feet. Hair was always a pain to clean up and I wanted to create as minimal a mess as possible--didn't need any additional stress. I took a few deep breaths and felt ready to go. I placed my right hand on the chair in front of me and the clippers in my left, positioning myself to start shaving my client's head.
"You ready," I asked.
"As I'll ever be," she answered.
I let my left hand drop and the clippers connected with the front of my wife's head. I slowly pulled it towards me, letting the blades buzz off a strip of hair. Hair fell from her head, gently falling to the waiting newspaper and collecting on the floor. The only sound in the room was the buzzing of the blades. I had been holding my breath during that first strip, and now that it was done I could breathe again.
It was easier after that. As easy as shaving your wife's head could be.
My wife of 35 years, the mother of my two children, the occupational therapist and karaoke enthusiast asked me that morning to shave her head for her. The cancer had come back, for the fourth time in 6 years. First it was in her colon, then her ovaries and stomach. We were optimistic for awhile that she had finally beat it, that the cancer had moved on to better pastures. But one routine appointment brought it all back home.Now it was back in her colon and lungs. They caught it early, so the doctors said, and no surgery would be necessary. Another aggressive round of chemotherapy should keep the cancer from spreading further. It'd be easy this time.
But chemo is always a bitch.
She had hung in there like a champ for a few weeks. The effects were minimal at first and she was able to go about her normal routines. She was able to run and exercise and continue to eat what she wanted. But then they upped her dosage and everything changed. She had no energy, could barely keep food down and migraine headaches kept her in almost constant pain. In the last month, she has lost almost 10 pounds.
Her hair was the latest casuality.
She had prayed that this round of chemo wouldn't make her hair fall out. The first time it had and after 6 years, it finally grew back to its original length and thickness. She finally felt like herself and confident again in her own appearance. But chemo doesn't care about self-esteem.
She hid it from me at first. She wore her hair in ponytails all day long and wouldn't let me touch her hair. I didn't notice until I started finding clumps of hair in the tub and all over the bathroom. I'd quickly clean the drains and floors, wanting to keep up the charade and pretend that I didn't know what was happening. Let her keep an ounce of the dignity cancer was taking. I guess she had enough.
I was making her breakfast this morning when she asked me to shave her head. She didn't explain why and I didn't ask. I just set up the newspaper and chair and waited until she was ready.
"You okay," I asked after I finished part of her head.
"Yep," she answered quickly.
I kept going--strip by strip, letting her hair continue to fall to the floor. It didn't take long and I barely had to apply pressure to her skull. I took my time and made sure I was precise, but it took barely 15 minutes to finish. I set the clippers down on the kitchen table. I ran my hand over her freshly shaved head to check my work. It seemed pretty even to me, so I took the towel from her shoulders and shook the hair from it then brushed off her neck.
"Alright. I think..." I started to say as I crossed in front of her. Her eyes were closed tight but tears were falling down her face. My heart broke into a million pieces when I saw her face. I knelt down in front of her, took her face in my hands and whispered, "Hey, Hey. Look at me."
Slowly she opened her eyes but she wouldn't look at me. I could tell the shame and embarrassment she was feeling.
"Look at me baby," I said.
"I can't."
"Why!"
"Because....I'm ugly."
"Honey, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. With or without hair."
"I'm barely a woman now," she said, finally looking up at me.
I stood up and lifted her into my lap. She was almost as light as a child now. "You are more of a woman to me bald then you would be if you had the thickest hair in the world." This only made her cry harder, as she leaned into my shoulder and let herself go. I just held her. Held her so tight that my arms ached from the pressure. We stayed like that for awhile; me holding her and her crying into my shoulder. Eventually she calmed down and pulled away from me slightly.
"It's just unfair," she said to break the silence.
"It is baby. It really is. And there's nothing I can say to make it all make sense. But I promise it will grow back. And in the mean time, I'm the luckiest man in the world."
"Why's that," she asked as she wiped the tears from her cheeks.
"Because last night I went to bed with a blonde and tonight I'll go to bed with Sinead O'Connor."
A smile stretched across her face and we both broke into a fit of laughter. That was all I wanted. To hear her laugh and fill the negative mood with happiness for even a second. We hugged again, her pulling me in closely. I could feel the pressure and stress release from her body.
And in that moment, I knew there was hope. I knew we'd beat the cancer as long as we could laugh our way through it. Together.
With or without hair.
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Monday, November 19, 2012
Frozen Tears
The
snow fell silently and quick,
as if angry at the world
for some injustice on the heavens.
Her skin raw from the onslaught
of vengeful ice, she cried.
The bruise above her cheek,
torn blouse and crimson lips,
leaped out to the senses against
the muted world of white.
Brown from her blood,
flurries roll off her face
staining the perfection,
once so pure.
She walked,
slowly,
suffering with every step.
Feeling not the cold,
but her innocence shattered.
Leaving only footprints where
she once stood.
as if angry at the world
for some injustice on the heavens.
Her skin raw from the onslaught
of vengeful ice, she cried.
The bruise above her cheek,
torn blouse and crimson lips,
leaped out to the senses against
the muted world of white.
Brown from her blood,
flurries roll off her face
staining the perfection,
once so pure.
She walked,
slowly,
suffering with every step.
Feeling not the cold,
but her innocence shattered.
Leaving only footprints where
she once stood.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Butt-inski
As many other Americans did, last night I found myself at my town's elementary school to cast my vote in the 2012 Presidential Election. No, I will not be discussing my political opinions, who I voted for, or the outcomes of the election. I vowed a few months back that I would not be entertaining the topic more than once in my blog, and I fully intend on keeping to that vow. Really, just go on Facebook if you are that interested. You'll be assaulted with the amount of opinions available, trust me.
But my topic tonight is a much more sinister and corrupt topic than politics.
Line cutting.
No, I'm not referring to "cutting a line" of an illegal substance. In the movies it's usually something like cocaine; stripped into little lines on top of a mirror with a razor blade, then inhaled with a dollar bill. This act doesn't involve drugs in any form." This is the physical act of cutting to the front of a line. Or as we Philadelphians say, "butting-in" front of.
Obviously, yesterday was a pretty big election--remember it only happens every 4 years? Seriously, everyone and their mother turned out to vote last night. And more in particular, all my neighbors and people from my town seemed to turn up at my polling place at the precise time that I was planning on voting--which was at 6:30. I breezed through the hallway, with its annoying party representatives handing out pamphlets (which, let me also state is a complete waste of time and paper. If I'm actually showing up to vote, chances are I'm completely certain of who and what I am voting for. Your pamphlets will not sway my opinion, Mr. Ambiguous Republican/Democrat man. Really, I thought Americas was "Going Green.") I was a bit shocked to see such a large crowd lined up in the school's auditorium and waiting to duck behind the little blue curtain and light up the switch board for our nomination. The last time I voted, I was in and out in under 5 minutes. No joke, I barely took 2 good breaths inside the school. Now that I think of it, the last time I voted was for the congressional race last year, which explains my quick exit--it wasn't the "Big Show."
I trudged back to the end of the line and considering I have no patience especially for lines of any form, I was not happy about it. I also had the guy I'm currently "hanging out" with along for the ride-- who was in fact not there to vote (as he lives in New Jersey) and who I lured there with me with the promise of tacos after--and felt even more impatient that we were subjected to a long line.
After 5 minutes of waiting, I was half tempted to say "Ah fuck it. Let's go get tacos," but all I could picture were the suffragettes and Susan B. Anthony screaming at me from their "Votes for Women" picket lines. Couldn't let old Susie down, now could I.
So we waited. And waited. Every few minutes we were able to take a few steps forward and the lines behind us continued to grow. Actually it was quite impressive--I was told when I finally got to the front of the line and handed the volunteer my ID, that I was the 1200th voter that day which was more than they had ever seen. I started to feel more optimistic and less tyrannical as we got closer and closer to the booths. The end was in sight and so were the tacos that were awaiting us.
But then 1 woman shot all that to hell.
So I'm standing in line, innocently chatting to my "friend" about random things, when from the corner of my eye I see this woman--with too pink lipstick, hair that was beyond gray but she was obviously trying to cling to her youth, and bright red blush--roll through the door, taking a look at the long line and mouthing "Wow." She eyes up the line and then seems to decide, "Oh, I know you," to the man standing in front of me. Apparently she actually did know him. They were colleagues of some sort; they started talking about business and houses the other one sold. It seemed to be a happy little reunion of sorts, until you looked past the happy couple to the crazy with anger woman standing behind them.
The crazy woman being me.
I was pissed as hell. Literally ready to spit fire.If I had to wait in this damned line to vote, this tacky woman was sure the hell going to, too. Now you may be saying to yourself, "They were just talking! It doesn't mean she actually intended on cutting in front of you to vote." Well you're wrong! Because she moved with the line and edged her way into the line and in front of me, all the while keeping the conversation going between her and her colleague. If she hadn't intended on cutting, I figured she would have kindly stated to the man, "We'll talk after," seeing that the line continued to grow and every second she stayed to talk was minutes longer she'd be in line. But no! This obviously didn't cross her mind because she jabbered on and on.
My blood was boiling.
My "friend" could see my anger building, and being the Prince Charming that he is, offered to say something to the woman. "I have no problem telling this woman to get to the back," he whispered not too lowly. I told him no, it's not a big deal, we're almost to the front anyway. I resigned to the fact that this rude woman was butting-in front of me. "Just need to breathe and get over it," I thought.
But then--AGAIN-- a woman shot that to hell.
As the couple in front of me continued to rattle off about real estate, another haphazard woman waltzed into the auditorium. Similar to her predecessor, she was taken back by the large line in front of her. And as luck would have it--I swear God has a sick sense of humor--she also knew the couple in front of me. She marched right up to both of them and it was all kissy kissy and hellos. Then the newcomer turned to the other woman and asked, "Are you in line?" To which she replied, "No, no! I already voted earlier."With this reply, I instantly felt bad for judging her so harshly. Maybe her make-up wasn't too pink and her hair wasn't complete mess.
Maybe.
I was still thinking about this as my thoughts were interrupted by the newer woman to arrive.
"Excuse me? Yes hi! I need to butt-inski. Sorry I need to butt-inski," she said to me and motioned to the space between me and the older man.
"What?" I asked.
"I need to butt-inski.I hope that's okay," she said as she basically forced me to step back and stared me down until I did. Apparently I gave her the dirtiest look known to man and said "Um....I guess," and backed up.
I was shocked. Shocked isn't even the proper word. I was abhorred and instantly wanted to punch this rude-ass woman in her fat face. Not only had she used the word "butt-inski" in succession 3 times, but also saw nothing wrong with the fact that she was doing that rudest thing possible. My "friend" basically had to pet down my anger; rubbing my arms and talking to me like a child.
Now I ask you, is this act not the epitome of rude and immaturity? Is it not universally taught in elementary school that you don't cut in front of a line?
Not only was there a huge line but the line was for the most patriotic thing an American could do. Cutting in this line is almost like spitting on the Constitution! This woman just walked in like it was nothing and thought she was better than the line--who was she to wait in a line.
And trust me, the situation would be completely different if she had some heroic excuse--which she in fact did. She told the man in front of me that she had just left her elderly mother at home to rush out and vote. And trust me I'm not a complete bitch--if she had simply turned to me and said "Listen, my elderly mother is sick and waiting for me at home. Would you mind if I jumped in front you to vote" I would have been fine letting her cut in front of me. Like that's an acceptable excuse. Really, its all about asking, which this woman didn't even have the courtesy to do. She just decided to "butt-inski" in front of a large group of people who had been waiting for at least 20 minutes and then say sorry. And really if she was planning on being an ass, the entire line deserved to hear her slay the English language.
People cease to amaze me. For real.
Eventually I got to vote and throw more than a few nasty looks at the ungrateful woman who now stood in front of me. All ended well and I got to eat my fill of tacos--even though I would rather have eaten them a good 40 minutes prior.
Moral of the story; If you don't ask, GET TO THE BACK BITCH!
But my topic tonight is a much more sinister and corrupt topic than politics.
Line cutting.
No, I'm not referring to "cutting a line" of an illegal substance. In the movies it's usually something like cocaine; stripped into little lines on top of a mirror with a razor blade, then inhaled with a dollar bill. This act doesn't involve drugs in any form." This is the physical act of cutting to the front of a line. Or as we Philadelphians say, "butting-in" front of.
Obviously, yesterday was a pretty big election--remember it only happens every 4 years? Seriously, everyone and their mother turned out to vote last night. And more in particular, all my neighbors and people from my town seemed to turn up at my polling place at the precise time that I was planning on voting--which was at 6:30. I breezed through the hallway, with its annoying party representatives handing out pamphlets (which, let me also state is a complete waste of time and paper. If I'm actually showing up to vote, chances are I'm completely certain of who and what I am voting for. Your pamphlets will not sway my opinion, Mr. Ambiguous Republican/Democrat man. Really, I thought Americas was "Going Green.") I was a bit shocked to see such a large crowd lined up in the school's auditorium and waiting to duck behind the little blue curtain and light up the switch board for our nomination. The last time I voted, I was in and out in under 5 minutes. No joke, I barely took 2 good breaths inside the school. Now that I think of it, the last time I voted was for the congressional race last year, which explains my quick exit--it wasn't the "Big Show."
I trudged back to the end of the line and considering I have no patience especially for lines of any form, I was not happy about it. I also had the guy I'm currently "hanging out" with along for the ride-- who was in fact not there to vote (as he lives in New Jersey) and who I lured there with me with the promise of tacos after--and felt even more impatient that we were subjected to a long line.
After 5 minutes of waiting, I was half tempted to say "Ah fuck it. Let's go get tacos," but all I could picture were the suffragettes and Susan B. Anthony screaming at me from their "Votes for Women" picket lines. Couldn't let old Susie down, now could I.
So we waited. And waited. Every few minutes we were able to take a few steps forward and the lines behind us continued to grow. Actually it was quite impressive--I was told when I finally got to the front of the line and handed the volunteer my ID, that I was the 1200th voter that day which was more than they had ever seen. I started to feel more optimistic and less tyrannical as we got closer and closer to the booths. The end was in sight and so were the tacos that were awaiting us.
But then 1 woman shot all that to hell.
So I'm standing in line, innocently chatting to my "friend" about random things, when from the corner of my eye I see this woman--with too pink lipstick, hair that was beyond gray but she was obviously trying to cling to her youth, and bright red blush--roll through the door, taking a look at the long line and mouthing "Wow." She eyes up the line and then seems to decide, "Oh, I know you," to the man standing in front of me. Apparently she actually did know him. They were colleagues of some sort; they started talking about business and houses the other one sold. It seemed to be a happy little reunion of sorts, until you looked past the happy couple to the crazy with anger woman standing behind them.
The crazy woman being me.
I was pissed as hell. Literally ready to spit fire.If I had to wait in this damned line to vote, this tacky woman was sure the hell going to, too. Now you may be saying to yourself, "They were just talking! It doesn't mean she actually intended on cutting in front of you to vote." Well you're wrong! Because she moved with the line and edged her way into the line and in front of me, all the while keeping the conversation going between her and her colleague. If she hadn't intended on cutting, I figured she would have kindly stated to the man, "We'll talk after," seeing that the line continued to grow and every second she stayed to talk was minutes longer she'd be in line. But no! This obviously didn't cross her mind because she jabbered on and on.
My blood was boiling.
My "friend" could see my anger building, and being the Prince Charming that he is, offered to say something to the woman. "I have no problem telling this woman to get to the back," he whispered not too lowly. I told him no, it's not a big deal, we're almost to the front anyway. I resigned to the fact that this rude woman was butting-in front of me. "Just need to breathe and get over it," I thought.
But then--AGAIN-- a woman shot that to hell.
As the couple in front of me continued to rattle off about real estate, another haphazard woman waltzed into the auditorium. Similar to her predecessor, she was taken back by the large line in front of her. And as luck would have it--I swear God has a sick sense of humor--she also knew the couple in front of me. She marched right up to both of them and it was all kissy kissy and hellos. Then the newcomer turned to the other woman and asked, "Are you in line?" To which she replied, "No, no! I already voted earlier."With this reply, I instantly felt bad for judging her so harshly. Maybe her make-up wasn't too pink and her hair wasn't complete mess.
Maybe.
I was still thinking about this as my thoughts were interrupted by the newer woman to arrive.
"Excuse me? Yes hi! I need to butt-inski. Sorry I need to butt-inski," she said to me and motioned to the space between me and the older man.
"What?" I asked.
"I need to butt-inski.I hope that's okay," she said as she basically forced me to step back and stared me down until I did. Apparently I gave her the dirtiest look known to man and said "Um....I guess," and backed up.
I was shocked. Shocked isn't even the proper word. I was abhorred and instantly wanted to punch this rude-ass woman in her fat face. Not only had she used the word "butt-inski" in succession 3 times, but also saw nothing wrong with the fact that she was doing that rudest thing possible. My "friend" basically had to pet down my anger; rubbing my arms and talking to me like a child.
Now I ask you, is this act not the epitome of rude and immaturity? Is it not universally taught in elementary school that you don't cut in front of a line?
Not only was there a huge line but the line was for the most patriotic thing an American could do. Cutting in this line is almost like spitting on the Constitution! This woman just walked in like it was nothing and thought she was better than the line--who was she to wait in a line.
And trust me, the situation would be completely different if she had some heroic excuse--which she in fact did. She told the man in front of me that she had just left her elderly mother at home to rush out and vote. And trust me I'm not a complete bitch--if she had simply turned to me and said "Listen, my elderly mother is sick and waiting for me at home. Would you mind if I jumped in front you to vote" I would have been fine letting her cut in front of me. Like that's an acceptable excuse. Really, its all about asking, which this woman didn't even have the courtesy to do. She just decided to "butt-inski" in front of a large group of people who had been waiting for at least 20 minutes and then say sorry. And really if she was planning on being an ass, the entire line deserved to hear her slay the English language.
People cease to amaze me. For real.
Eventually I got to vote and throw more than a few nasty looks at the ungrateful woman who now stood in front of me. All ended well and I got to eat my fill of tacos--even though I would rather have eaten them a good 40 minutes prior.
Moral of the story; If you don't ask, GET TO THE BACK BITCH!
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