hair

Last night Jon came home and told me that Dad had lost all of his hair. I was shocked, but I shouldn't have been. The doctors had said that he would loose his hair about 2 weeks after his 1st treatment. I was hoping that it wouldn't happen. Yesterday was the three week mark. When the second week passed, and his hair was still in place I felt relief for each day that it was still there. It is probably my own vanity about my own hair projected on my father-in-law, but the cancer just seemed less threatening if he still looked the same. Besides how many people make it into their 60's with a full head of ungrayed hair??? I sure won't. I found my first gray hairs in the MTC at age 21 and it has been a loosing battle ever since. I'm just grateful for Ms. Clairol or whatever other brand sends me a coupon.



Honestly, I don't know how Dad feels about loosing his hair. I never asked. I just hoped that it wouldn't happen. I think it is the same hope I felt each time I found out I was pregnant. Each time I thought, "They say each pregnancy is different. Maybe this time I won't be sick or if I am sick maybe it won't be as bad or maybe for not as long.!" I really hoped that each time. Six kids and 2 miscarriages later, I have to say for all my optimism it never changed the outcome: first thing each morning straight to the toilet, followed by many repeat trips throughout the day. Fatigue and tiredness were my constant foe. I would drag myself through each day of endless chores and child rearing with self deceiving promises that soon it would pass and I would feel better. My youngest baby is 19 months old and I still haven't "rested" sufficiently; however, I am happy to report I haven't thrown up since his delivery. People often shake their head and say to me, "six kids in eight years! I don't know how you did it. You must have easy pregnancies!" I usually just smile at the ignorant assumption--not worth my time to tell the truth to some stranger or random acquaintance who really doesn't care one bit about my pregnancies (usually they are just relieved that they aren't me).

Hope is my ally. It was the hope that things could be different or that better days were still ahead that got me out of bed each morning and helped me wade through the deep waters on difficult days. It was hope (and a good husband) that held my hand and helped me courageously and knowingly walk the path to the shadow of the valley of death all those times. The fact that the outcome never changed doesn't lessen the power of hope.

Dad's bald head is a visible sign of the cancer he is fighting in his body. It is a casualty of his warfare. I'm sad his hair is gone; I am not sad that I hoped it wouldn't happen.

Dad received his second chemotherapy treatment today. I have faith it is killing the cancer in his body.