and...
Sixteen years ago when I was in college, I met a friend's dad. He was a short man. Maybe 5"5 or 5"6, and he was bald. His baldness was in the pattern of a clown costume: Full, thick hair on the sides and the back, but absolutely no hair on the top. He kept it relatively short. The kind of short where you can manipulate the hair.with a brush or a comb. The three of us decided one afternoon to walk to taco bell for some lunch. I was behind my friend's dad, and I saw him look into his reflection on the door and primp his hair. I was dumbfounded. I mentioned this to my friend and other friends who knew his dad, and they just laughed.
When I went home, I told my dad this. "What would you do if you started going bald?" He looked at me and said, "You know damn good and well what I'd do." I really didn't, and asked him what he would do. He said matter of factly "I'd shave it." Which makes sense to me. Because that's what I do. I have let my hair grow for three weeks or four weeks. I look at the back and top of my head in a mirror, and remember why I take a razor to it in the first place. Some guys are ok with baldness, and some even wear it well. I don't, I look like a clown so I maintain my dignity by shaving it.
Fast forward to his cancer, and chemotherapy. While I was hanging out with him after church most of his hair started falling out. He would run his fingers through, and pull out tufts of hair. The original plan was to wait after the cubs game, but he wanted it done right now. So I got everything ready. He sat down on a chain in the kitchen after he had taken off his shirt, and I put a towel on his back. I plugged in the clippers, and started to shear his head. After I brushed away the cut hair, I noticed the huge patches of skin. I asked him if he wanted me to take razor to his head, he said yes.
I soaked a small towel with hot water, and wrapped his head. Since I wanted to wait for the skin on his head to soften, I swept up the hair off the floor. Dad was really bothered by this. He thinks that a real man should be able to grow hair, and not fit the look of someone diseased. He was even told by my godmother who has been an oncology nurse for thirty five years that when the chemo is over, his hair would grow back. Mom had her head against his reassuring him that he is stil a man.
Of course, it is hurting me too, but I just turn into a wise ass. When mom leaves the room, I look at him and say "Ah, quit your fuckin' whinin' ya big baby. At least your hair will grow back when the chemo is over." I had not shaved my head for a few days, and I stooped my head down and pointed. "You see that? That's not coming back...ever." He cracked a smile, but he was still pretty upset about it. However, with his build now, he does wear it well, and has received compliments from the nurses.
In the last week, though, things have gone downhill rapidly. He has been halucinating, not really eating, and every five steps he takes he has to stop and hang on to somebody. He has been passing out quite frequently. Yesterday was no different. He was well enough to come up with my mom when she came to pick me up from work. I noticed that he had shaved his face, but that there were still whisps of hair coming out. I know he hates that so I asked him if he wanted me to shave his head when we got to my place. He agreed, and it took a few minutes between the car and my front door.
Carrie was home sick, and I had him sit in my recliner to rest and to visit. After fifteen minutes, I got him ready for his shave. It was unnerving, because the whole time shaking uncontrollably. At first, I thought he was crying. So I stopped for a minute to look at his face, but he had a zen like look to him while his body convulsed. While I continued shaving, I told my mom that pop was shaking. She replied that he's been doing that alot. Another unnerving thing. We both got through it, and they decided to go ahead and go home. I needed to take out the trash so I walked out with my dad to make sure that he didn't fall along the way.
We said our goodbyes, I threw away the garbage, and I went inside. I don't know if there are degrees of numbness whether in lightness or intensity, but mine was pretty high. I felt my body wanting to cry, but the energy wasn't there. I decided to drive to the monon, and run for half an hour. I sat on the bed changing. Albeit slowly. Then Carrie came in and just sat with me. She put her head on mine, and we just sat there. I don't know what to say. I do know that words, and tears don't change the fact the man you knew as superman is wasting away, nor do they heal him.
Things suck right now.
I am sad.
I am also numb.
When I went home, I told my dad this. "What would you do if you started going bald?" He looked at me and said, "You know damn good and well what I'd do." I really didn't, and asked him what he would do. He said matter of factly "I'd shave it." Which makes sense to me. Because that's what I do. I have let my hair grow for three weeks or four weeks. I look at the back and top of my head in a mirror, and remember why I take a razor to it in the first place. Some guys are ok with baldness, and some even wear it well. I don't, I look like a clown so I maintain my dignity by shaving it.
Fast forward to his cancer, and chemotherapy. While I was hanging out with him after church most of his hair started falling out. He would run his fingers through, and pull out tufts of hair. The original plan was to wait after the cubs game, but he wanted it done right now. So I got everything ready. He sat down on a chain in the kitchen after he had taken off his shirt, and I put a towel on his back. I plugged in the clippers, and started to shear his head. After I brushed away the cut hair, I noticed the huge patches of skin. I asked him if he wanted me to take razor to his head, he said yes.
I soaked a small towel with hot water, and wrapped his head. Since I wanted to wait for the skin on his head to soften, I swept up the hair off the floor. Dad was really bothered by this. He thinks that a real man should be able to grow hair, and not fit the look of someone diseased. He was even told by my godmother who has been an oncology nurse for thirty five years that when the chemo is over, his hair would grow back. Mom had her head against his reassuring him that he is stil a man.
Of course, it is hurting me too, but I just turn into a wise ass. When mom leaves the room, I look at him and say "Ah, quit your fuckin' whinin' ya big baby. At least your hair will grow back when the chemo is over." I had not shaved my head for a few days, and I stooped my head down and pointed. "You see that? That's not coming back...ever." He cracked a smile, but he was still pretty upset about it. However, with his build now, he does wear it well, and has received compliments from the nurses.
In the last week, though, things have gone downhill rapidly. He has been halucinating, not really eating, and every five steps he takes he has to stop and hang on to somebody. He has been passing out quite frequently. Yesterday was no different. He was well enough to come up with my mom when she came to pick me up from work. I noticed that he had shaved his face, but that there were still whisps of hair coming out. I know he hates that so I asked him if he wanted me to shave his head when we got to my place. He agreed, and it took a few minutes between the car and my front door.
Carrie was home sick, and I had him sit in my recliner to rest and to visit. After fifteen minutes, I got him ready for his shave. It was unnerving, because the whole time shaking uncontrollably. At first, I thought he was crying. So I stopped for a minute to look at his face, but he had a zen like look to him while his body convulsed. While I continued shaving, I told my mom that pop was shaking. She replied that he's been doing that alot. Another unnerving thing. We both got through it, and they decided to go ahead and go home. I needed to take out the trash so I walked out with my dad to make sure that he didn't fall along the way.
We said our goodbyes, I threw away the garbage, and I went inside. I don't know if there are degrees of numbness whether in lightness or intensity, but mine was pretty high. I felt my body wanting to cry, but the energy wasn't there. I decided to drive to the monon, and run for half an hour. I sat on the bed changing. Albeit slowly. Then Carrie came in and just sat with me. She put her head on mine, and we just sat there. I don't know what to say. I do know that words, and tears don't change the fact the man you knew as superman is wasting away, nor do they heal him.
Things suck right now.
I am sad.
I am also numb.