Stephen's Story, Part 4: There goes the hair.

My last post about Stephen, I trailed off on a Christmas morning....

That year, for the first time ever, I had no trouble deciding what gift to get for my family members.  Our last family portrait.

I thought it was very nice at the time, but I find it a little haunting now.  We all look so plastic.  If the emotion that the photographer had intended to convey was "paralyzed with fear," he'd have nailed it.

Stephen's second of eight rounds of chemotherapy treatments began on January 2nd.  He returned to Geisinger Medical Center, where he and my mother stayed at the Ronald McDonald House.  The protocol was the same, three consecutive chemo treatments, and then a rest.  After this second round, his hair started to come out.

He was home for a weekend between treatments, and we were having a family dinner.  I even remember that it was spaghetti (it's weird what we remember, but I'll delve into that more later when I discuss the things I don't remember).  Stephen had an inventive sense of humor, and always loved to put one over on me in particular.  He turned to me while we were eating, and said "I think you were in my room while I was gone."  I was taken aback.  Why would I be in his room?  Why would he want to start a fight with me over this?

"No, I wasn't."

"Yeah, I think you were.  I think you were, and it makes me so mad, I want to pull out my hair!"  And with that, he reached up, grabbed his forelock, and pulled.  All of it came out in his hand.

He was expecting a surprised laugh, and to have a good-natured chuckle himself, but instead was met with a shocked silence.  He was aghast at how much hair he'd pulled out.  I guess he'd been noticing that he could pull a few strands here and there, but nothing of this magnitude.

Stephen, minus a chunk of hair.

Before long, it was all gone.  I could no longer deny that he was a cancer patient, or pretend that he was just "away" for a little while when he was getting his treatments, because, suddenly, he looked like a cancer patient.  He was tired, pale, and had dark circles under his eyes.

But he was still Stephen.  Positive, hopeful, enthusiastic.  

One of Stephen's happiest times in this early treatment period was returning to visit his school for his D.A.R.E. graduation.  He'd missed weeks of school at this point, and most of the actual D.A.R.E. program itself, but had been offered a certificate of completion nonetheless.  Stephen didn't think this would be fair to his friends, who'd all finished projects and written essays.  So he decided to give an impromptu speech during the ceremony.  He stepped up to the podium.

"Hello, my name is Steve, and you may have all heard about me..."
 His hands trembled, his voice shook, he swallowed hard a lot of times, but he got out the story of what his cancer was, how he was taking a lot of medicines to treat it, and how he was going to be just fine, "...and even though I have to take all this medicine, I will never do drugs."

You could have heard a pin drop.  The room burst into applause.  Swelled to an ovation.  Stephen smiled right down to his toes.

Of all the things Stephen lost, he missed his friends the most.

Revisiting these memories reinforces my decision to volunteer to shave for St. Baldrick's.  Because that's precisely what losing my hair would be for me -- a decision.*

For me, going bald wouldn't be a side-effect.  Not something that is going to make me feel horrible (other than emotionally, writing these posts is getting hard), and not something that would ultimately kill me.

I hope you'll decide to join me in this fight.





Click here to read the other installments of Stephen's Story:
Stephen's Story, Part 1: A Flashback
Stephen's Story, Part 2: Wait, what?
Stephen's Story, Part 3: Chemo for Christmas


Stephen's Story, Part 5: Radiation and Ronald
Stephen's Story, Part 6: A Happy Birthday
Stephen's Story, Part 7: Great Danes and paper cranes
Stephen's Story, Part 8: Promises
Stephen's Story, Part 9: The Long Journey
Stephen's Story, Part 10: Requiem


*Many thanks to Lora-Lee, who phrased this sentiment so perfectly, and so succinctly.  Namaste.



To donate to St. Baldrick's in honor of Stephen, click HERE!
See the blog post on "Binary Voting" for details on how to vote for or against my head shave!