Side Effects

“I can’t do this. I can’t handle the waiting part. I just can’t.” It’s 3 in the morning and Gaby is wearing the kind of desperation on her face that only surfaces in the middle of the night.

“Maybe you don’t have to.” I notice a set of clippers on the counter near the sink. “Why don’t you do it?”

“What? Shave my head? Are you crazy?”

“Think about it. If you do it now, you are in control. You don’t have to wait around until it falls out. No more getting up to stare at your pillow, no more freaking out. If you do it now, then it’s done and YOU did it.” I am convinced it’s the right thing to do; the take charge thing to do. But I can’t help thinking – what if it was me? What if I was going through chemotherapy? Could I do it?

Without a word, Gaby picks up the clippers and turns them on. The buzz fills the silence in the room until it is all I can hear. With a look of concentration on her face, she hovers just above the center of her forehead and plunges ahead leaving a patch of white behind. A reverse mohawk – a skunk’s stripe. There is no going back now. She lines up to the right of the gap and cuts again. Then to the left. Again and again and again; her expression never changes. She is watching herself intently in the mirror, looking through rather than at herself. I am hypnotized by the constant hum and her intensity.

She shaves until only one chunk of hair remains, to the left of her right ear. “Can you do it?” Her question startles me. I take the clippers from her, their vibration filling my hand and creeping up my arm. I take a breath, focusing on the sensation of the air filling and leaving my lungs.

“Face me.” My voice sounds strangely distant. She turns, looks at me and then closes her eyes.

“Do it. Quick.” It is a command. I lean in; gently place the guard against her skin with my right hand while holding her hair in my left. I run the clippers through it – they move quickly with little resistance. It’s done. I shut off the clippers. It takes my ears a moment to adjust to the silence.

“What do you think?”

Gaby opens her eyes and turns to the mirror. There is a half circle of hair on the floor around her – luscious, long locks of dark hair splayed Medusa-like on the white tile. I’m still holding the last clump in my hand. She is beautiful. There is a quarter of an inch left, just enough to create a shadow. Her head is perfectly shaped and without hair, her blue eyes are stunning. Her cheeks are flush. She runs a hand over her head.

“I feel like a different person. I feel strong – like I can do anything.”