I wrote this poem about a year after chemo, and later published an article with Coping With Cancer magazine (link below), but this is mostly a photo journal.
|age 21--my preferred length|
It was part of what defined me.
Hair doesn't make a person, though,
So why do I feel as different
on the inside
as I do on the outside?
for fun, I said.
When the red hair began to fall out
I cut it short
to lessen the mess, I said.
except for two stubborn strands
and I shaved them so I could feel
that bald was my choice.
Long brown curly wig,
Short red sassy wig,
Scarf topped with hat.
|Before I lost eyebrows & eyelashes|
|Not one hair left on me--this was the worst I felt.|
trying to figure out who I had become.
|No hair yet but now in remission!|
Marine recruits had more than I did.
Hats were still my best friends.
|3 months post-remission|
and people tell me, "Cute."
But still I mourn my old hair,
and the old me.
|Three years (goofy bangs!!!)|
Link to Coping With Cancer article