Going from Purple to Bald

“Do not cry in front of Mama when you see her. She just can’t have that.” I read a text from my sister while I was at the departure area, waiting for my flight home to see my mother. “She doesn’t have hair. And she’s lost a lot of weight. She might try to ignore you at first but just maintain the usual banter you and Mom would do every time she’d fetch you at the airport,” the text briefing from my sister continued.

It would be the first time that I’d see her post chemotherapy,and my family members made sure that I understood the situation. “No crying, please. You need you to be strong. You have to be strong for Mama.”

Amidst the flurry of people, the frenzied pace, and the raucous clatter, I sat there staring blankly onto space not knowing what to do or how to react. With my back pack on one side, I clutched my phone lightly against my chest. I felt my heartbeat racing as tears welled up in both eyes.

I reviewed the message for the nth time – maintain the usual banter. I quickly stashed the phone inside my bag and tried to focus my thoughts on more positive things; like the appreciative look the cab driver gave me when I tipped him for getting me to the airport as fast as he could, like how I remembered to pack all the essentials, and like how I managed to arrive at the airport two hours before my flight.

However, it proved to be of little or no help at all as everything that I could think of would always lead me to thoughts of her.

“How hard is it to give people a little extra something whenever they did a good job?” She always wanted me to tip. And she always wished I’d stop procrastinating, because according to her, cramming would almost always end up with a shoddy and haphazard output. “You could do more if you’re not cramming, you know, like packing the night before the flight.” And she always wanted me to arrive at the airport as soon as the check-in counters open for “good seats and a buffer for unforeseen delays.” I focused on other things but my thoughts were always punctuated with me thinking about her more.

Maintain the usual banter between you and Mama – I read the message from my sister again. Yeah right. Easy for you to say, I scoffed.

I absentmindedly watched the airplanes take off and land while passengers scurry about in front of me. I was then reminded of the last time Mama came to visit a couple of years before she was diagnosed with Endometrial Cancer. Well, it wasn’t technically a visit; it was part of a connecting flight which required a 2-hour stopover. And up to his very day, I couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory. It happened a couple of years back, but I can still remember the minutest detail of it.

It was a very humid afternoon in September 2009. I was waiting for her at the Arrival area for 30 minutes when the alarm sounded that her flight from Dipolog City had landed. A couple more minutes, and there she was – the first passenger to exit the gate with her pink stroller wheeling behind her. She was so giddy like a first grader walking out from the first day of class. She was in her usual flight get-up: short shorts, sleeveless shirt, and running shoes – all in different shades of purple. And do you know what else was purple? Her hair.

“Hi Lylie!!!” She called out to me as soon as she emerged from the door. I waved back. And when I noticed one of the guards trying to catch up with her, I motioned for her to turn around. Her baggage claim tag was still on. And as soon as the guard was done, she told him “Thank you, Mister Guard. I was just so excited to get out of the plane to see my son,” which she followed with her signature belly laugh that made people stare. “Oops, sorry,” she silently said while her free hand covered her mouth.

“What happened to your hair!?” I said between hugs and kisses. “Well, I hurriedly colored my hair last night, and when I woke up this morning, it turned purple! I figured I bought the wrong cream. But I didn’t have time to redo it, so I let it hang. But whatever; it’s no longer my problem if people don’t like it. It isn’t noticeable, is it?” I shook my head. But in truth, it was shockingly purple than she thought it was. But she rocked it.

You see, my Mom didn’t have a problem with being self-conscious, “As long as I look clean and presentable, I smell nice, and I am comfortable with what I’m wearing, then I don’t see why I should be worried. My friends like me for what I am and not for how I look, and you think I look alright, so nothing else matters.”

I chuckled at the recollection. But as I was sitting at the airport, waiting for my flight home, I thought to myself; apart from the physical pain that she’s going through, how emotionally excruciating would this whole thing be for her? I mean, not only would the situation limit her fromdoing the things she loved, but it would depict her as someone who needed pity. And she’s having none of that.

Mom was the most positive person I knew, and a lot of people would agree. Despite her travails, she would always manage to remain sunny and optimistic. “Everyone has their own cross to carry, but so what if I don’t feel good about some of the things in my life? The world doesn’t need to see that!”

Realizing this, I fished my phone from my bag, and sent Mama a text just like the old times, “Boarding in a bit. See you in a few. Love you Ma!” And she replied, “Okay, Goodboy. Excited to see you! God bless. Love you too!” With so much love and anticipation. Just like the old times.

“PR 168 bound for Dipolog City. Please board now at Gate 5.” The voice over blared. “PR 168 bound for Dipolog City. Please bord now at Gate 5.” I picked up my bag, proceeded to the tube, and told myself, “I’m coming, Ma.”

Read Part TWO Here...


Image1: Indulgy Purple and Lavender
Image2: BenaBasil's Corner
Image3: Author's own
Image4: Become Gorgeous
Image5: Indulgy Beauty in Everything
IMG6: Author's own

Posted in: Cancer, Endometrial Cancer, People