Hello Beautiful FOAM Friends
Well, today I finally did it. Ross Coco shaved my head. And really, underneath that spunky blonde hair was a rather attractive head—no big bumps or lumps or scars and, according to some, quite a shapely cranium!
That’s the physical side. The emotional side is a whole different kettle of fish. Once I decided to have my head shaved for charity, I probably experienced the whole range of emotions on whatever is the bald equivalent of the Richter Scale. One moment I am delighting in the feeling of empowerment—of taking control of my own future and being able to make a small community contribution. (One of the producers at 4BC, who has the most amazingly flamboyant curly long hair, told me when she was 21 and in London she shaved her head. She said she felt totally liberated and wonderfully free.) That gave me courage and motivation. I was ready to face the world boldly like Zena of Freshwater—then the next minute, I am flooded with tears knowing that my hair is one of my signatures and wondering if my self-esteem and my identity will tumble along with my locks.
Deep down I knew I was doing the right thing, but when people kept telling me I didn’t have to do it and to only shave if it was for me, I was catapulted into uncertainty.
Well, it’s done and I have had my first public outing—to the Coles supermarket in New Farm. Okay, so it is a mecca for the wonderfully beautiful A-listers, but there are enough ‘individuals’ in the area to make me feel brave enough to venture forth.
Reality really hit. I lined up at the checkout, with pumpkin, cashews, milk and toilet paper under my arm, at the busiest supermarket around and heard a little girl’s voice very loudly say, ‘Hey, lady, have you got cancer?’ You could hear a pin drop in Coles. I looked around to see a 5 or 6-year-old little girl in pink looking at me. I was very embarrassed, but looking into her eyes I realised that there was no animosity or vindictiveness—she just wanted to know. So I said to her, ‘Yes, I have. How did you know?’ to which she replied, ‘Silly. You’ve got a cancer head.’
Yep, I do have a cancer head, and it took the innocent curiosity of a tot to make me realise that it was going to be tough—but I would be okay.
Later that night, seeing my image reflected back on the television news was also very daunting. But, hey! This is me for the next little while. My soul and spirit are still the same—although maybe a little richer for the experience. My hair will grow back and I only hope that it isn’t bright red and frizzy!!!! (Apologies to anyone with that combination … on you, it looks lovely!)
When I go out tomorrow and to work on Monday, it will be the same me—just a little less hairy and with no need of gel.
Smile
AM