When my daughter was fourteen I got a call from her pediatrician that she had been diagnosed with stage four rhabdomyosarcoma, a very aggressive soft tissue cancer. I was on the way to her basketball game. She was a starter on her women’s high school basketball team. I watched her play with tears in my eyes knowing that she didn’t have any idea what was coming; that I might never see her as happy or healthy again; and worse, that she might not be with us much longer.
She started eleven months of chemotherapy with some concurrent radiation. Within a month, she had lost her mid-back- length, straight, thick, dark brown hair. She was bald with no eyebrows or lashes. She returned to school in a beanie and painted on eyebrows. Eventually we decided together that she would try a wig that was made from human hair that wonderful women had donated specifically to be used by cancer patients. It never fit quite right for her tastes; especially along what would be considered her hairline and forehead; so she wore a bandana that was folded in half and tied in the back over the wig.
Between chemo sessions she decided she wanted to return to her basketball team. Her coach and teammates welcomed her back. As the next game approached we realized that the California Interscholastic Federation, which runs all high school sports, did not allow any headwear for safety reasons, uniformity and in an effort to avoid gang messaging. We petitioned them to make an exception and they agreed. She wore a beige colored scarf with some white squares on it.
The game was against an inner city school and the team was all black. The girls (young women) were mature and physical, especially compared to a skinny fourteen year old with cancer undergoing chemo. As the two teams warmed up my daughter jogged into the restroom off court to check that her wig and bandana were in place. She was looking in the mirror when five gals from the other team came in and surrounded her and wanted to know why the f*ck she was wearing a bandana.
My sister had married a black man and my girl’s cousins are black and today my daughter is engaged to a black man. So it’s not like she was freaked out that she was surrounded by black girls. Rather, being surrounded by big, angry girls who were acting like they wanted to do her harm, gave her pause.
She answered them “I am wearing a bandana because I have cancer, am taking chemo and I am wearing a wig”. Each one of the girls got misty eyed, melted a bit, apologized and gave her a hug and wished her the best. They felt terrible. This was a sad story for me to hear but one with an uplifting ending.
It reminded me of what I already knew: that if we focus on understanding individuals and groups; their vulnerabilities as well their strengths; rather than stereotyping or reacting emotionally, we are able to see how much we have in common. The opposite is also a truism. I am not always perfect, not by a long shot; but I strive to see common ground and goodness, not differences.
PS … the incident with the wig and the cancer was twelve years ago. A year later when my daughter’s hair grew back it was very fine, soft and naturally curled into a loose afro. Funny how chemo can do that. Her hair eventually returned to it’s original state.
Dr. Kevin Purcell, DC. Dedicated to serving others …