Observations on people observing me

"Mommy..."

I was in the aisle looking at towels when a woman and her young daughter turned in. The little girl said, "Mommy," then something about me. Did she say BALD? It kind of sounded like bald. But she may have said "her hair is white," which I know, sounds nothing like "bald." "Her hair is bald?" Maybe. But that doesn't make any sense, even for a kid. This was it. I had been waiting for it to happen, and when it finally did, I was too "got" by the incident to really hear and remember exactly what the kid said. 

I looked down at her and we made eye contact. She was so cute. She became embarrassed when she realized I heard her, and she turned her back toward me. The next part I did hear. "Sorry about that," she said. It was surprising how adult that phrase sounded coming from a 5-year-old. "It's okay," I told her, and pretended to keep looking at bath towels, while thinking: unlike adults, she said out loud what she thought about when she saw me.

I've been interested in watching people when I'm in public now sans hat. Yes, hatless Polly is roaming around stores and in public. It's more comfortable, and I really do have hair, it's just very white and very fine yet. I mess it up with some pomade most days. 

Before all this I was that person. The one people talk to in public. Strangers in stores talk to me. People give me compliments. People tell me about themselves. I am a magnet for homeless people, hurting people, lost people. Always have been. Most of the time I don't have anything great to say to them, but I stop, make eye contact, and talk a little.

Now I stand out more with my white head. People still talk to me, but it's different. 

A lady approached me last week. I was leaving a store and I noticed her looking at me. She came toward me, touched me on my arm and said, "You just finished treatment, didn't you." I told her that I had finished chemo but would be starting radiation soon. She told me she had finished in August last year, and commented about how much her hair had grown since then. I was trying to do the math in my head: 1/2 inch a month X how many months = how many inches... I was distracted by this thought and flubbed the end of the conversation. She said she would be thinking of me, and I told her the same. Then she left. I meant to say, of course, that I would pray for her. I blame chemo for this. (Sidebar: how long is this excuse going to work?)

At the grocery yesterday I started realizing a couple of patterns. In one, people will smile and uncomfortably say "hi." It seems they feel they need to say something, and that's the shortest word they can think of. In the other, if we make eye contact they immediately look away. Surprisingly this is mostly women. I get the "sad smile" from some people. It's those that seem to bother me the most.

Another frequent reaction is that people feel they have to downplay their own illnesses. I have been around a lot of sick people this winter. There have been loads of colds and some nasty bugs going around. But for some reason people feel bad telling me they are sick. Even Bob, when he had a cold for a week or so said, "it's not that bad, it's not cancer." Listen, I know being sick stinks. My having cancer doesn't make your symptoms unimportant. (Of course when Bob had a cold, it was tough to show a lot of sympathy although I did try...)

I wonder. When I begin to look more "normal" again, what will change? I hope people will keep talking to me. I hope whatever there was about me before cancer will still attract those people. I probably still will not have anything profound to say to them. 

What I wish I could say: "Bless the Lord, my soul; and do not forget all His gifts, who pardons all your sins, and heals all your ills, Who redeems your life from the pit, and crowns you with mercy and compassion."

We're all in this together, people.