Goldilocks

Remember Goldilocks’ quest for perfect porridge, a cozy chair, and a comfy bed? She sampled a trio of options in each category that ranged from too hot to too cold and too hard to too soft. Eventually, she stumbled upon the things that were “just right.” It's true, life really does imitate art. We all encounter some duds before identifying the ideal. For instance, how many pairs of jeans do you try on before purchasing the ones that fit “just right?” Don’t get me started with bathing suits; just the term creates spontaneous rolling of the eyes and heavy sighs in most women.

Well, it’s time for me to trade my golden locks for a wig. Believe me, I tried on some doozies before getting it “just right.” I named the red one "Mrs. Roger Rabbit." Let’s just say, “va, va, va, voom!” The brunette made me look in the mirror and say, “Hello, mother.” No offense to mom; she’s beautiful, but no one wants to look like their mother, right? Next was the long, blond bombshell. Immediately I parted it into ponytails and began speaking with a Swedish accent. “Yah, dis is so not me.” In the end, the one that was “just right” was the one that looked the closest to normal; it was the one that suited me the best.

I confess that last night when I ran my hands through my real hair and multiple strands came out, I gasped. Then I did it again, just to see if it was a fluke; more hair. Once more…just to be sure. Oh no, it’s really coming out—not in clumps but equal opportunity thinning. I silently walked Skip to the sink to show him the carnage with tears rolling down my cheeks. Of course, he hugged me and said all the right things.

This morning I could still wash, dry, and style it to look presentable. But I know that the days of freeing my follicles are numbered and thankfully, so are my hairs. The Lord said, “The very hairs of your head are all numbered” (Matt. 10:33). By next Wednesday, the day of my second chemo, I'm pretty sure I’ll be able to count them too. The doctor assures me that when it grows back, I will have curly locks. Imagine that. I pray that it’ll look just right.

Love,
Lenya