I am not my hair...until I ain't got none....

I've heard people say that when you're having the hardest time, a smile can make you feel better. Just the act of smiling can change your mood. 

Yesterday I found it in myself to start this blog and I kid you not, as I was writing my first blog post, I was rubbing my head, something I do when I write, when I'm nervous. 

BC (before cancer, don't make me remind you again, I hate the C word now) I was inspired by Lupita Nyong'o to do the big chop for the first time in my life. There's something liberating about making the decision to chop your hair off, no matter who you are. But as I wrote yesterday I noticed the coils of soft, cotton like hair falling away. 

I didn't panic, I was prepared or so I thought, I had read the paperwork, remember? My first instinct was to grab a comb to make sure this wasn't psychosomatic. As I ran the comb through my hair, huge chunks just came away in my hand. I didn't cry, I put the comb away, tied my hair up and continued about my day. 

When they tell you you're hair is going to fall out, I'm sure you're all thinking it's just the hair up top but NO it's all of it. I mean, I don't want to get too personal but when I went to pee and a clump of black hair was in the toilet (I've been roughing it down there) I was horrified! That was scarier than the hair on my head. My fucking pubes?!! Chemo is attacking my fucking pubes?! what did my pubes ever do to anyone?! 

I made up my mind that I would get my hair cut today. I would get a date and go get er'done! I knew I needed company, the thing about being me at this moment  is I don't know when I'm going to cry. I can be perfectly fine and the blue sky brings on the water works! 

When I couldn't find a date -people do have jobs and shit- I told myself I'll take my mom, my number one soldier. As we walked around looking for barbershops, I felt the tears; hot, salty at the brink. Why was I so emotional? I skipped barbershop after barbershop, too many people, too many inquisitive looking men, too many hot men. I didn't want the prying eyes or the questions.

My mom noticed but she pressed on. We found a place, an upstairs shop totally empty and we walked in. 

"You guys cut hair?" I was stopping my voice from trembling as the bottle blond Mexican woman looked up from her cellphone; 

"yes we do mama. what would you like?" 

"Take it all off."

I took the hat off and she asked if I wanted it as short as my mom, I said, "shorter." 

"why you cut so short?"

"I'm going through chemo, it's falling off, I rather just take it off than you know..."

"oh my god...I'm so sorry. You're doing the right thing, you're going to be OK, everything is going to be fine."

I wish my doctor would utter those words. I sat in the chair not really looking at anything in particular. 

"That disease is getting everybody. It happened to my aunt. She found out in November, died in march. It was too late. but you're doing what you have to do everything will be fine."

"My first husband too...you know how men are about doctors but don't worry mama, you gonna be just fine. Just do what they tell you to do."

My mom sat behind us, shaking her head, yes the whole time. When the barber finished, before she shaped it up, my mom looked at me; "you look good mama. you lucky you have a nice head."

I smiled to keep from crying. I never looked in the mirror, I've never been about hair not #teamnatural or #teamcreamycrack -I judge lacefronts a little bit- but to each her own. But here I was in this chair holding myself up because I couldn't believe this was happening, listening to my sweet mother in her Haitian accent tell me how "beautiful" I look -Did I mention how much I love her.-  It's not the cutting of my hair but the why. The big chop is liberating because it's your decision, it's you saying I don't care about beauty standards I'm so confident I'm gonna look at "myself" in the face. But this felt different, this was a preemptive strike on my part, something was coming for that hair whether I wanted to or not. 

I'm smiling in the picture to change my mood to find the power in my preemptive strike to not cry. And listen, in hindsight, writing this, there are some really fucked up things chemo could be doing but so far my body is shutting that shit down, so if I gotta lose a few hair follicles in the meantime, so be it! -writing is so therapeutic- So I smile to lift my spirits and lets all get together and pray for my eyebrows, I don't know how you fix having no eyebrow!