Quadsville

Sometimes our lives are like a badly written sitcom with no discernable ending.

How’s this for a plot idea for next week’s episode: Hilarity ensues, when Catie is forced through a freak set of circumstances, to shave her head.

The punchline here is that it’s a true story and it already happened.

The aventuring duo is now one ponytail short. I am bald.

Why I had to shave my head is a long and detailed one, but basically, its gross, you don't want to hear it, and while I wasn't actually affected with anything at the time of my hair cut, I was warned by the good doctor that I could, very easily, get it, and exposure, in itself, was enough to endanger myself and others, especially my dad. That was too many commas.

See, for those of you who don’t know, my dad was diagnosed with Chronic Lymphositic Leukemia last summer, and he is currently undergoing a bone marrow transplant in Chicago. Because of the transplant, they killed off all of his white cells, so he has, literally, no immune system. Anything could make him really really sick, and so I was forced to make a decision.

Should I risk his health in order to save my hair or do I suck it up and make (what I knew all along) was the right choice?

Last year, Cory Johnson, one of my theatre proffessors who is freaking amazing, was telling us about how she shaved her head when she was cast in the lead of “Wit”. We were all really impressed with her ability to do something so drastic, and I remember very distinctly her speech to the class. She told us that every day, hundreds of people lose thier hair because of illness or disease and they have no control over it–but they suck it up and move on with dignity, and the least she could do as an actor was respect those people enough to do it the right way.

That stuck with me, for some reason. Maybe just because God knew that in a year I would be debating a similar choice with myself, or maybe its just because I really liked that class. Either way, I’m glad that I had that perspective already engrained in me, because, well, I’m a girl, and I worry about how I look sometimes.

Even though I looked like Harry Potter or Charlie Bucket depending on the day and my choice of sweater, it was hard for me to make that choice. But I did, I had it done and that is that. There’s no turning back now, and I am really certain I made the right choice.

So, in the interest of my father's health, I went to the barber shop in town like the true adventurer I am and had it all sh–sh–shaved. (Sorry, it's still kind of hard to say). The lady at the barbershop actually started crying halfway through my hair cut, which was funny because I didn't, but she did. Funnily enough, she also shaved off about half of it, stopped, looked at me and said “are you SURE you want to do this?”

So, there's that. I'm bald. Which, all in all, isn't as incredibly tragic as I thought it was going to be. People either think that I'm GI Jane or Natalie Portman…or Mr. Clean. I've started rocking a lot of fun hats, and I bought a really terrible wig for those occasions where I can't wear hats respectfully. (Thankfully, it's so cold here all the time that no one questions me wearing winter hats 24/7). The street market in Ormskirk has been amazing, as they sell loads of different winter hats for really cheap, so I keep stocking up on Thursdays and Saturdays.

Most of my close friends (both here and at home) know already, and its been really fun waiting for the perfect moment. My favorite way to do it is to wait until someone is complaining about the terrible day they had, and then whipping off my hat and saying something like “yeah, I know how awful it must have been getting a library fine. Did I mention that I DON'T HAVE ANY HAIR?

And so while this entire situation may have sounded like “this week on a very special episode” I’m glad that this happened to me. Its taught me alot about perspective and what’s really important.

Because honestly? (Here's where it gets cheesy, folks) I did it for my dad. He has gone through so much in the past year, I feel like having a crappy hair cut for a few months is the least I can do. Yes, I would have preferred to keep my 'do, yes, I think it sucks that I now look a whole lot like the chick from Alien, and yes, it sucks that I can’t use “I have to wash my hair” as an excuse any more,  but you know what? Seeing my family and being there for my father, especially this year, at Christmas is WAY more important than being able to put my hair into a pony tail– any day.