Part 13: Impossible Coincidences

November 20, 2023

Otherwise Known As: It's a Small Damn World...

November marches on, and with it comes the closing on my new house (next door, no less!). But before the moving madness begins, I decide to throw a girls' night at my current place. A chance to break in the "new me" - my full wig - in a safe space, surrounded by the amazing women who are my neighbors, friends, cheerleaders, and all-around lifesavers. (Seriously, everyone needs a squad like mine!)

The night is filled with the usual - laughter, endless chatter, and that feeling of pure joy that comes from being around your favorite people. At one point, I distinctly remember saying, "Surely this whole hair thing is almost over, right?" Honestly, I don't know if I truly believe it anymore. But hey, gotta stay positive, right? Otherwise, who knows what other disasters might befall me?

*Neighborhood Squad^

As I hang up my wig after everyone leaves, a wave of new questions washes over me. Why is my head suddenly feeling so small? (Maybe the better question is why these wigs are the size of Rhode Island?) Why is the wig cap made of the itchiest wool known to humankind? How do I even wash these things? Where am I supposed to store them? And why, oh why, do they always smell faintly like "someone else's house" and never quite like "me"? There are no friends there to reply with the answers though....

A Million "No"s

Later that week, closing day on the house arrives. Even though I've lived next door for a year, I've never met the owner, Gerry. She lives in New York and just rents the place out. Our realtors arrange a meet-up so I can see if there's anything I want to buy before the movers haul it all away.

It's a classic Florida day - sunshine and enough humidity to make you sweat just thinking about it. Even the short walk over to Gerry's house has me breaking a sweat. Why does this day feel so significant in hindsight? Because the moment I step inside and meet Gerry, I can't help but notice... she's... hairless.

We exchange pleasantries as I browse her belongings, mentally debating what treasures I might want to keep. Then, as I always do, I blurt out the question that's burning a hole in my mind: "Did you lose your hair too?" I whip off my hat, ready to reveal the wrath of alopecia underneath.

For a split second, I'm mortified, bracing myself for a story about grueling chemo sessions. But no. Buckle up, everyone, because this is where things get crazy:

Gerry lost her hair due to COVID.

My body instantly erupts in a wave of uncomfortable heat. I nod and whisper, "Me too," a pit forming in my stomach. Then, to my utter horror, Gerry describes her timeline. It matches mine exactly, except... TWO YEARS EARLIER!

Two. Freaking. Years. This woman has been hairless for TWO YEARS.

No. No way. Nope. Not happening. A million "nos" echo in my head as I walk back home, grappling with the terrifying implications of what this might mean for my future.

Slipping Away...

Life loses its vibrancy those next few days, even under the perpetually sunny Florida sky. As time goes by, the remaining wisps of hair dwindle further. One night, in a moment of despair, I grab my dog's scissors* and give myself my first (and hopefully last) haircut.

Immediately, a new set of questions plagues me as I woefully walk around my house that night, trying to stay productive and not look in the mirror:

When did my ears get shaped like this? Why is there a constant breeze that seems to target only my head?

And why is my dog giving me the side eye, judging me like David Rose from Schitt's Creek?

(*I'll buy my own scissors someday)

Again, in what I see is another pattern of mine, I post out to social media because your girl needs some serious TLC. This is going to get better, right? The outpouring of support is once again enough to warm this cold, hardened soul. More encouragement to keep my chin up, more ideas of what I could try next, more people just telling me that they love me.  I can't tell

you all how much I need that these days. 

*Apre Chop^

Remember, you are a badass...

But one message, in particular, hits me differently. It's from a former board member at my old company - a legendary networker, mentor, and all-around awesome human being named Sam. Board members usually inspire panic, but Sam is different. He's selfless, positive, funny, and truly authentically always “Sam”.  The kind of person you always answer the phone for, even on a bad day.

*Sam ^

His advice is gold, usually costing corporations a cool $1,000 an hour, but he took the time out of his busy day to do what he does best – motivate me to be better. His sage wisdom kicking in, noticing a chink in my armor, and he jumps into 'problem solver mode' for me, getting down to business.

We talk and talk - he reminds me of my inner badass, urges me to keep fighting, and promises to tap into his network to see if he can help find some answers. (I think I am forgetting that I'm a badass at this point, dear readers.... )

With reassurances from Sam that all will be well again, I hang up and head to bed that night with my new, albeit questionable, haircut and a renewed sense of purpose - simply to summon that inner badass again. She is invincible and can conquer anything - just believe. Time to just get on with it. And sweet dreams, you fierce bitch.

Continue to Next Part

OR... Expand Here for Side Rant

Okay, I'm grumpy today and have decided to add in a little rant since there is no editor on this site censoring me.  So I'll get a little real here for you:

It's hard when I tell people what is happening and that I have to wear wigs now and people say "omg that's so fun I would just buy a bunch of different wigs and have a new style every day and oh it will be amazing and adorable and easy and comfortable and clearly affordable!".  That's not how this feels, when you're forced to wear a wig in a situation like this. 

This is not trying on a new look for fun.  This is me just trying to find "me" again in the mirror. I scare myself every morning seeing my own reflection-  honest to god, I really do. I just want a wig that lets me have "me" back.  Just Plain Jane little midwestern me.  I'm losing her and want her back so desperately.  For the love of god, please be careful with those words.  I know they are supposed to make me feel better, but trust me, they pierce to the core.

---

Wow, you read all the way down here! Impressive!

Just curious, did you find yourself unexpectedly in the middle of my story?

Click here to start it from the top.