Power To You

Walking along the corridor of the hospital the other day, I saw another patient who I'd exchanged glances or half-smiles with, although we'd never spoken.

This woman was walking a little ahead of me, but as I was moving at a much faster clip, I quickly caught up with her. I expected that we would share the usual greeting -- or non-greeting, really -- and I would continue on my way. But as I passed by her, she turned to me and said, "I've been wanting to talk to you." So I slowed my pace to match hers, and said, "Yes?"

She surprised me by revealing that she had been watching me and wished that she, too, could leave the house with her head uncovered. At the moment, she was wearing a bucket hat, and I remembered that she always wore a hat or a wig. Cancer-related hair loss is so devastating, it was no surprise that this woman needed shoring up. I assured her that before long, her hair would come back and her hat days would be well behind her.

"Do you want to see my hair?" she said. Then, in the middle of hospital hallway, she lifted off her hat and uncovered her head, which was encased in the black netting that football players wear under their helmets. Next, she began to peel off the netting. I expected to see a combination of bald spots and patchy growth. To my surprise, this woman's dark gray hair was much longer than mine. She had more than an inch of perfectly fine hair all over her scalp.

I was dumbfounded, and stammered, "You have lots of hair. You don't need to cover it up." She demurred, although I'm not sure why. But by initiating a hallway conversation and showing me what was under her hat, she was clearly reaching out for support. I suspected that she wanted a push toward the next step.

My family and friends know that I love to offer solutions. If they present me with a quandary, they will get my ideas on the best fix, whether or not they actually want to hear them. So seizing a chance to hold forth, I suggested the following remedy: Put on some make-up, and do one errand with your head uncovered -- the post office, the bank, the supermarket, whatever. Just take on one errand and, after that, assess whether you still need the hat or the wig.

She didn't sign on to this idea, but she didn't say, "No," either. As the conversation ended, and I turned to go, she called after me. With her fist raised and clenched, she said, "Power to you." Puzzled by this whole encounter, I walked to the car thinking about all of the ways in which we trip ourselves up and let inhibitions take charge.

This happened on Friday, and I saw her again this morning. I asked if, over the weekend, she had gone out bare-headed, and she said, "No." But today she appeared stronger and with more resolve. She told me that she was going to attempt a trip to the supermarket. "Good luck," I yelled as she walked away.

We'll see what happens. I have seven treatments left. I'll consider it a victory if within that time, this woman walks into the waiting room, head uncovered and newly empowered.