In the second grade, I sat in my hair stylists’ chair at the local salon for a trim. I said, “I want my hair cut to here,” as I pointed to my shoulders. However, she misheard me and thought I said cut to my ears. Like most of us would, I cried from the second I got into my moms car and for several days afterwards because I could not stand the thought of having a “boys haircut”. Finally, my mom came out of her bedroom, her head bald and shiny, and she said, “Look at me, Alex. I have no hair, you do. I am sick, and I have no hair. I don’t want to hear you cry anymore.” From that moment on, I didn’t.
I believe it’s more painful to watch someone you love endure something terrible than to actually endure it yourself. When I was in second grade just five months before “the hair incident,” my mom was diagnosed with stage three breast cancer. At the time, I didn’t fully understand what that meant; I just knew that she had more than a runny nose and sore throat.
You know that sad part of a movie or television show, when parents have the talk with their kids about illness? I lived it before I ever saw it on screen. My mom and dad sat my brother and me down, and I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. The only thing I remember about the talk was my mom telling us that we had to be strong, because if we were strong, she would be strong too. There was not a day that went by that I didn’t wake up hoping I was in a really bad dream, just waiting to come out of it. What got me through my days was hope. Hope that my mom would make it through this journey, and knowing that it was my responsibility, as her daughter, to be there every step of the way.
My mom’s counselors at Memorial Sloan Kettering in New York City told my parents that my brother and I were bound to ask if she would die. My parents were also told to never to say no, she wouldn’t die. I remember after the talk saying, “Mom, you’re not going to die, are you?” My mom’s quick and certain reply was, “of course not, Alex.” She later told my dad, with a sarcastic grin, “Hey! I’ll be dead. You’ll have to deal with it!” That upbeat and humorous approach that my mom maintained through five cancer related surgeries over her many years of cancer and post cancer-treatment made all of the difference. I never saw her cry, or show even the slightest bit of pain. She never felt bad for herself, and never wanted me to feel sorry for her either. Although I may not have found her jokes funny when I was younger, looking back, her humor was the only light during those dark times.
My mom is a woman who had to literally fight to be here with me today. She’s taught me that being kind is better than being judgmental, that caring is better than looking the other way, and that listening first usually beats speaking immediately. This is the attitude that she took on for beating cancer, and the approach I take for life.
There are plenty of good things that came from a bad break, and 14 years later my mom is here as a cancer survivor. For my mom and me cancer was not a death sentence, it ended up being a life affirming and eye opening gift. It has changed both of our lives, as well as anyone who knew her, in many, many ways. And surprisingly, a lot of them have actually been for the better. Six years later, when I was in 8th grade I donated 12 inches of my hair to women with cancer because if having a wig made out of my hair meant making someone sick happy for even a second, I wanted to make sure I could honor that.
Thanks to advancements in prevention, there’s hope that fewer moms will have to have the talk with their kids. I encourage everyone to be in touch with their bodies, whether you feel like something is wrong or not, get checked! Remember, you are someone’s sister, or daughter or mother, and if not for yourself, do it for the people around you who love you.
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