Freedom from hair

There are some moments throughout the days of the last several weeks when it occurs to me that I have Lung Cancer. No really, I’m not even kidding. Lung Cancer. And that is a perhaps a desperate thing and I think perhaps I have been misunderstanding the meaning of that. Not taking in the full import and such.

Because I must tell you, honestly, all in all, it’s not so bad. I am not even unhappy. Or even feeling sick really. And I know that we know from the television and from the literature and from gossip around the water cooler that it is a Very Bad Thing. A whispered thing even. Pregnant, has AIDS, dyes her hair, lung cancer and so on.

It’s not that I don’t think this is a life altering event. It’s just that my life just got very simple. All I have to do is keep living. Accept the gifts people give. Marvel at the love coming my way. Remain permeable. Let myself be affected.

There are so many things in life that I think are harder. So many things that involve anguishing decisions. How to live without hurting the people you love. How to sort through conflict. How to weigh your own needs against others. Feeling trapped. Loving someone unkind. Letting go of people. Feeling unloved. Uncared for. Losing others. Terror.

And after the first week of my diagnosis the terror has gone away. And I have never felt or even understood such love. I feel so cared for. And suddenly I have forgiven myself all the stupid things people don’t forgive themselves for. I feel uncluttered.

So I do not think this is a story of something terrible or tragic. It is exactly like the story of a very interesting life.

It also very often feels like an exercise in visibility. People from every facet of my previously segregated life are co-mingling in delightful ways. The sign-up sheet from my lesbian friends’ benefit hike to Mt St. Helens has made its way to the 1st Baptist Church in Eureka, MT where my second grade teacher tells my mother I was always a very sweet girl and always nicely dressed.

Acquaintances and co-workers now know my deepest notions of death. My mother knows (or will soon know) that some people think my head looks sexy bald.

Here I am.

All the people who love me or love Deborah or love people who love people are finding some stake in this story. And it reveals my life to all. My very essential desire to live. My human struggle. And it is such a beautiful and singularly amazing experience to have that much love or concern reflected back from your human community. The extended family.

I come from a small cattle ranch in northwestern Montana. I ran untethered over rolling hills. I caught fish with a net in shallow pools after irrigation had siphoned down the creek. And spring cottonwood sap is my favorite smell.

And today I am bald. My skull is visible. And when the wind blows, it feels wet. I rode my bike up a hill today and passed a woman on her bike who yelled “you can do it.” I laughed and sped up.

And there I am.

I can no longer modify the story I am telling with the aid of hair. I walk the dog through the neighborhood without a hat and I think strangers think I am going for a tough look. A punk rock thing. It feels like thematic unity. I am visible. Not tough. Just living. My only damn job.

Riding the pony I am dealt.

val

ps. Thank you to Favor for crossing the entire Hawthorne Bridge with me so I could listen to zydeco.