Linda Urban used Lydia Barry’s idea of starting the writing juices. . . hair. We were asked to write 8 words that came to mind. Then she asked us questions about the one word that we had selected. (Where were you, what was on the right or left, what season was it, what were the smells, etc). . . this is the story that grew for me.
I am . . . exhausted after a day of teaching, but as I travel to the hospital, I feel more rejuvenated. I always do. . . for some reason, when I get to my husband, I feel a transfer of energy. He depends on that to survive. It is the only activity takes the HELPLESSNESS away.
I walk through those orange double doors– CRC (clinical Research Center) rush down the hall to see him. The speakers are calling for doctors . .. the is a code BLUE. Nurses are scurrying here and there. As I quietly open the door, I see a bald man sleeping in the bed. I gently close the door and rush to the nurses station. “Where is Rich? What has happened to my husband?” I scream.
The nurses came over and quietly said. . . “That IS Rich, his hair was falling out in clumps. He said it would be okay to shave it off!” I went back to his room. He was awake by now. We sat together in his bed. . . we cried. We laughed! We pondered all these strange happenings around us.
I went home the next day to be with my girls and teach. . . that was the routine. . . one day here, one day there. I had to prepare them for when Daddy would be home in a few days. When I told them that he was bald now. . . Kris (age 4) replied”. . . well Mommy, we love Daddy–not his hair!” . . . And that was all there was to say about that!