To say this wasn't how I expected to spend my evening is putting it mildly. But then, I didn't expect that we'd still be in the midst of his battle against cancer a year following his diagnosis. I didn't expect him to have to start chemo again so soon (the doctor said, "You know how I said it could be 6 months or it could be 36 months? Well, 6 months it is"). I didn't expect my husband to lose over 100 lbs in a year. And since he didn't lose his hair last time, I didn't expect him to lose it with this wave of chemo treatments. But it's a different cocktail, and so Friday morning I walked into the bedroom to find him sitting on the edge of the bed with his pillow in his lap, showing me that it was covered in hair that had fallen out of as he slept the night before. Switch the pillow case and repeat Saturday morning, then again this morning, and now it's Sunday evening and as I type this my husband is sitting in front of the mirror shaving his head.
We didn't think it'd be such a long, difficult process, this hair removal thing. For starters, I didn't realize that in the last year he threw out his clippers. Those would've made things much easier. But we don't have them anymore, so I got out the scissors and cut his hair as close as I could, then he busted out the shaving cream and razor. He gets worn out really easily, so 5 minutes into the shave he asked for a seat.
As always, I think it's more upsetting for me than him. He keeps saying, "It's hair, it'll grow back eventually." But I think for me watching this happen is a visualization of just how sick he is right now. He looks like a cancer patient now. I can't hide from it anymore. And I can't hide from the fact that I'm scared.
So I should be working on this week's lesson plans, or the slide show for our school family assembly that we're holding this week. But instead I'm sitting here typing, trying to hide the fact that I'm crying, while I watch my husband shave his head.