Rachel
I watched Piper play on her swing set. She wanted me to swing with her, but I was too tired. The chemo drained me. My life had become a revolving door of treatments, rest, more treatments. I felt as if I were on constant rewind. My own personal Groundhog Day hell.
That night as I brushed my hair, a huge chunk came out. Even though I knew it would happen, nothing prepared me for what I felt just then. A total loss of control. A feeling that I’d been ruined in some way. The next morning, I found hair on my pillow and my scalp felt tender.
After we dropped Piper off at school I asked Mary if she’d do me a favor.
“Of course, Rachel. Whatever you want.”
“Will you shave my head tonight?”
Mary didn’t say anything for a few seconds but I could see her lips quiver. “Yes. I’ll shave it if that’s what you want.”
“That’s what I want. Better than losing it a clump at a time. At least then I’m the one in control and making the decision on when I’ll go bald. We could even have a party to celebrate. A Shaving of the Head party.” I laughed.
Mary looked at me and started laughing, too. It felt good to laugh. I hadn’t realized how starved I was for a deep belly laugh.
That night, Claire and Nick surprised me. They showed up at Mary’s for the impromptu Shaving of the Head party Mary had thrown together. I woke up from a nap expecting to find Mary helping Piper with homework only to find them decorating the cozy sitting room off the kitchen. They had strung pink and white streamers and Piper made signs. Good luk Rachel. Hair today, gone tomarow. Balldays r bestest.
Nick hugged me. “You look great.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re not a very good liar, Nick.”
“No, seriously. You look good. Okay. You look better than I thought you would.”
I smiled. “Thanks, I guess.”
For a few moments, my life felt normal. We joked and laughed and Piper sang a song Mary had taught her about an ant moving a rubber tree plant.
Mary spread a sheet out on the kitchen floor and placed a chair in the middle. “Are you ready, Rachel?”
“Me first! Me first!” Claire shouted, rushing to sit down on the chair.
My hand flew to my chest. “Claire, no! You can’t. Your hair is beautiful. Don’t do this for me!”
Claire, who had thick brown hair that fell to the middle of her back, waved. “It’s only hair. It’ll grow back. Besides, think how much we’ll save not buying razors, shaving cream, shampoo or conditioner for the next eight months.”
It was hard to argue with that logic.
Mary held up the scissors. “Are you sure?”
Claire nodded. “I’m sure.”
I cried as I watched Mary cut Claire’s hair, cutting it as close to the scalp as she could. Then, using the shaver, she finished the job. Claire looked at the pile of hair surrounding the chair, then at me. “Your turn!”
“Not quite.” Nick stepped forward. “I’m next.”
“Nick, please. It’s not necessary,” I said.
“I know it’s not necessary, but I want to.”
Once again, Mary trimmed the hair down to the scalp then shaved the rest.
Claire handed me her cellphone. “Take a photo of me and Nick. I’m going to post it on Instagram and Facebook and ask, ‘Who wears bald better?’”
“You’re crazy, you know that?”
Nick and Claire posed and I snapped a few photos.
When it was finally my turn, I sat down, not nearly as scared as I would’ve been. Ever since I knew I had to get chemotherapy, I’d tried to picture what I’d look like bald. I knew it would eventually happen because I was determined I wasn’t going to lose pieces of myself bit by bit. There were few things in my life I had control over, but this one I did and I wasn’t going to give that up. I wanted to be the one to call the shots on the things I still could.
It wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be, mostly because of Nick and Claire. Mary had bought a boatload of scarves and hats.
“When did you buy all this?” I asked.
“Piper and I stopped after school at this great boutique on Madison and Broadway.”
I knew the boutique they were talking about because I’d met a young mother getting chemo for breast cancer who told me that’s where she bought all of her scarves. Every time I saw her, she was sporting a different one. They were absolutely beautiful.
Claire fashioned a purple paisley one on my head. “You look beautiful, Rachel. Now you put one on me.”
Just like Claire had done, I wrapped a floral fuchsia one around her head.
“Hey, what about me?” Nick asked.
Mary left and returned with a brown tweed newsboy cap and handed it to Nick. “Try this!”
Nick put the cap on his head and smiled. “What do you think?”
I laughed. “You look very debonair.”
“Yeah,” Claire said. “Wear that when you want to be sophisticated. For the motorcycle you, just cover your head with a red bandana.”
When I went to bed that night, I opened my nightstand drawer to get out my reading lamp. I noticed Mom’s letter. I wasn’t ready to read anything she had to say.
I fell asleep but was awakened a few hours later by a storm. Thunder roared outside my bedroom window and the trees shook like maracas. I heard a knock at my door and then a tiny voice. “Rachel?”
I sat up and turned on the small lamp on my nightstand. “What’s wrong, Piper? Is it the storm?”
She walked over to the bed, dragging Rachel Rose by one arm. “Can I sleep with you?”
“Sure.” I lifted up the blanket so she could crawl in bed beside me.
“Rachel?”
“Yeah, Pipe.”
“Are you scared?”
“Of the storm?”
“No, of cancer.”
Since my diagnosis, I’d tried to shield Piper from what I was really feeling. I didn’t want to scare her. She’d been through so much and I didn’t want her to worry about me. On the other hand, I wanted to be honest with her. I wanted her to know that if something happened to me, she’d have Mary. I didn’t want her to think she’d be alone. I know what it feels like to be alone in a world that can be mean and harsh and unforgiving.
“A little,” I finally said. “But you and I have each other and Mary. And Pipe, Mary’s not going to go away. She will always be here for you, even if I’m not.”
“But I don’t want you to die, Rachel.”
“I don’t plan on that happening. I promise you I’ll fight and beat this.”
“And then we’ll be together forever, right?”
“Right, Pipe. Forever.”