16. Out of the Mouths of Babes: Rockstar Energy
This was on my fridge, keeping it real!
I have a niece who was 10 years old when I was diagnosed. I wondered what she was going to be told. There was discussion about not telling her. I happened to be at her house the day before my treatment started and the adults were talking about things albeit in code. She’s a clever little girl, so she would’ve known something was up. When my hair fell out I said she needed to be told something. She was going to see me bald and she’s far too curious not to notice it wasn’t just a dramatic new hairstyle! So, she was told something. To this day I don’t actually know what.
After she was told I arranged to meet her at my parents house . The little legend made me a beautiful picture in the shape of a heart. On it she’d written ‘I didn’t know you had a personal hairdresser can you hook me up too’, ‘love the new do’, and of course she had a reminder to me that it was 65 days to her birthday. Keeping it real, I loved that! I cried when I saw it, not because of what I was going through but because of her thoughtfulness. Later I was told that after I left the house she was asked what she thought of my new hairdo and she replied she thought I looked like a rock star. Even as a 49-years of age I was chuffed with that. My 10 year old niece thought I was rocking it! There’s no greater compliment! It also gave me confidence with my decision to be bald.
We spent a lot of time together when she was growing up. She came to my house regularly, we’d cook, bake, we’d play and just hang out. So through treatment she came out to the house on my good day between cycles. It became routine, we had one day together every three weeks.
Before my third treatment I asked my niece what I should wear. I had gone pink since my diagnosis; pink clothes, bold pink lipstick, anything to show that cancer didn’t have to be dull, doom and gloom! That was on my good days. On my bad days, I just took myself out of it all, allowed myself the time I needed to prepare for the next treatment. As I got an injection into my leg I wore shorts to my treatment, so I let her decide which pair. The Barbie craze was in full swing, so she chose my pink shorts with a pink cardigan. Bingo I was dressed!
At the cancer centre, I was called for my observations, weight, height and blood pressure. The nurse commented on how well I looked. I told her my stylist was just 10-years-old. We laughed at me channelling my inner bald Barbie! Later one of the treatment nurses said the same thing and again I explained the outfit had been chosen by my niece. They thought it was a lovely idea. I told them she had great taste!
My niece is incredibly thoughtful. She buys gifts with her own money and her generosity for someone so young is something special. Before Halloween she bought me a stress-buster ball shaped like a bat. I brought it to a treatment and proudly had it displayed. People brought different things to help them get through a treatment day. I also had my Perigrine medal in my pocket, but out on display was my stress buster bat. There are other things she bought, or suggested to be bought for me, that I still use today and they have been so helpful in my recovery.
Who ya gonna call? Stressbuster bat!
Children are the best; they just call it like they see it. Sometimes in shops children would stare at my bald head. I’d just smile and say hello, to let them see this was perfectly fine. I’m fast forwarding a bit here, but I need to tell you this one. It cracked me up completely. Out walking one day I bumped into someone who had their child with them. We were just chatting away, and the child, who was very curious and inquisitive out of the blue asked, ‘why were you bald?’. The little ones father nearly had a canary, he choked and said, ‘I’m so sorry’. I told him it was a great question. I explained I decided to shave it off for a while to see what it was like and I was growing it back. Question asked and answered. It’s the honesty of children that I love. No filter. No awkwardness. Just curiosity. Answering them simply takes the mystery and fear out of it for them, and instead just makes it a thing.
One of the things I appreciated the most about my niece was that she wasn’t fazed about being seen with me with no hair. We’d walk into shops chatting away as normal, because for her it was normal. It wasn’t about illness. It wasn’t about cancer. It was about what we were doing that day. Once when I turned up in bright pink trousers to collect her she just grinned and said ‘I love your trousers, they’re so cool!’ That was it. No drama, No pity. Just cool trousers.
Being with her reminded my that being bald wasn’t tragic. It wasn’t frightening. It wasn’t something to hide. It was just hair, or the absence of it. Children don’t see loss the way adults do. They see what’s in front of them. They adapt. They accept. They move on. If anything she helped me more than she’ll ever know. In her eyes I wasn’t a patient. I wasn’t a diagnosis. I was still me, occasionally pink and bald, but still me. Sometimes, that simple, uncomplicated acceptance was the greatest gift of all.
