What's Left of Me

In the shower, I let the hot water run over me, letting my shoulders relax under the stream. The water hits hard on just the right trigger points, lessening all the stress that has been building up for the last three days. I keep eyes closed, feeling the warmth consume me, while I scrub every part of me clean.

I’m surprised how good a shower can make me feel after the days I’ve had.

Rubbing my hands over my face, I scrub away any makeup that may still be lingering. I somehow allowed Genna to talk me into doing my makeup yesterday afternoon because she wouldn’t shut up about how it would make me feel better. I think it was to make her feel better, like we were spending quality time together or something.

I give my eyes more attention, hoping to get all the mascara off. There is nothing worse than the feeling of a washcloth scraping over my sensitive skin, but since I ran out of makeup remover wipes, this is my only hope of getting it off.

With a final scrub, I turn into the water to wash away any last bits of soap. I take a step back from the running water and wipe my face with the dry towel I have hanging on the wall just outside the shower curtain. Letting the towel fall back against the wall, I glance down at my hands where there are a few tiny black hairs on the outer tips of my fingers. I turn my hands over to get a better look, separating my fingers slightly as I do.

“What the heck?” I whisper to myself, holding my now shaking hands up in the air. The little hairs look like lashes, but they’re mixed with slightly longer hairs of golden copper and brown.

“Oh my God.” These cannot be what I think they are. Can they?

“Oh my God. Oh my God!” I start to say louder into the running water.

Quickly pulling the curtain back, I step out of the shower, not bothering to grab the towel. Heading straight to the vanity mirror, I grab a hand towel to wipe away the steam that has formed on the mirror and try to see my reflection through the foggy glass.

“Oh my God!” I yell at my reflection. My eyes are still hazel, but they’re no longer surrounded by full, dark lashes. They’re empty. Every single eyelash is gone.

Every. Single. One.

I don’t have time to panic about my eyelashes because my eyes make a fast glance over the rest of my face where I notice the thinned out space that once held my freshly-tweezed golden eyebrows. I gasp at the sight. My hands fly up to my mouth. My eyebrows are almost gone. There are chunks missing. There is almost nothing left. I won’t be able to fix it. I’ll have to pluck them all.

No hair.

Desperate to get away from the mirror, I back up until I hit the wall. My palms touch the wall to keep me from sliding to the floor.

It will be okay. Everything will be okay. Someway, somehow, everything will be okay. Won’t it?

No. It won’t. Nothing will be okay. This changes everything.

The realization of losing my hair sets in.

No more eyelashes.

No more eyebrows.

No more going out in public.

No more Parker.

No more Parker?

My heart begins beating rapidly, and my breathing becomes sharper.

This is not happening. This is not happening. This is not happening. This is not happening. This is not happening. This is not happening. This is not happening

Fuck. This is happening.

With a shaking step, I lean off the wall and examine the rest of my body. All my hair below my abdomen? Gone. The hair on my arms? There, but barely. The hair on my face?

My head?

Gone. It’s all gone.

Panic sets in, and I let out a muffled cry. My throat is tight and I swallow lump after lump, refusing to let them form.

I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry.

Fuck. I’m crying.

The tears start falling, and no matter how fast I try to wipe them away, more fall in their place. With every fallen tear, I get more and more frustrated. I’m frustrated at myself for crying, at this fucking cancer for taking not only all my hair, but now Parker too.

A scream escapes my chapped lips and I bang my palm against the wall behind me. I’m pissed at myself for getting so upset, but everything I thought I had is now gone.

Lost.

My hair.

My freedom.

Parker.

Everything.

I can’t go out in public without eyelashes.

Without fucking eyebrows! My eyebrows, for fuck’s sake!

“Taking the hair on my head wasn’t enough! You’re ruining me!” I shout at the top of my lungs, my voice going hoarse on the last word. Yanking the towel off the hanger, I knock over the potted plant on the small table next to the bathtub and it crashes to the floor.

Before I can let out a breath, I hear loud footsteps getting closer to the door. I wrap the towel securely around me.

“Aundrea!” Genna yells from outside the door, followed by my parents.

The shower is still running, so I reach in and shut it off. Finding my voice, I yell back, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

I hear hushed voices speaking just outside the door. I don’t want to deal with anyone right now. I just want to crawl in bed and hide until I’m cured.

“Are you okay?” she asks again.

“Just give me a minute. Please,” I say, annoyed.

I can’t look in the mirror again. I can’t look at myself. Turning off the light, I stand in the dark and count to five before making sure my towel is tightly wrapped around me, and open the door.

The door isn’t even all the way open when I hear a sharp intake of breath and hands slapping skin. My eyes meet Genna’s. Her mouth is a perfect O until her hands cover it. One on top of the other. Jason is next to her. He doesn’t say anything. I can’t even tell if he’s breathing. He’s looking right at me. Not at me, but at the spot that once housed my full eyebrows and thick eyelashes.

My mom begins to cry right away, leaning into my dad who doesn’t say anything, but I can see the pain of seeing me like this in his eyes.

“Dre,” Genna says softly.

Jason clears his throat. “Umm, I’m going to give you all a minute.” I watch as he walks away from us, leaving me standing in the doorway of the bathroom with my family.

He can’t even stand to look at me.

My heartbeat begins to slow and I grab hold of the door jam for support. My head feels light and my legs start to tremble.

“It’s going to be okay, Aundrea,” Genna whispers.

“Please don’t.”

“Don’t what?” she asks cautiously. I can tell she doesn’t want to say or do anything to upset me.

I can feel the stinging in my eyes as tears begin to form, and I will myself to calm down before one escapes.

“Say that. Just don’t.”

I move past them in fear that I’ll break down any second. I can feel my hands shaking at my sides, so I clasp them together in front of me as I walk into my bedroom.

Genna tells my parents to give us a moment, and my dad takes my mom into the other room.

“I … I just …”

“You just what?” I snap at her.

“I promise everything will be okay. Okay?” she says walking into my room.

“Stop saying that! My God, please. Will you just stop saying everything will be okay?” I’m irritated. I hate hearing those damn words. For the last four years, that is all I’ve heard, and I’m sick of it!

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.” I turn to face her, holding up a hand to stop her from continuing. “Don’t even say you’re sorry.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Something else! For once! Can someone just look me in the eye and not tell me everything will be okay, or that they’re sorry? I am not okay! This is not okay!” I yell, causing her to flinch at my words.

I’ve never yelled at my sister. Not even growing up. I've never had a need to. People don’t believe me when I tell them we don't fight, but it’s the truth. She’s my best friend and we’ve always been open and honest with one another. We’ve never had a reason to fight.

I turn away and walk toward my dresser to put on something other than the damp towel clinging to my body.

She follows closely behind me. “Fine. I won’t tell you anymore that everything will be okay. Is that what you want?” She spits my own attitude back at me.

I don’t need to turn around to see the hurt on her face as she speaks those words.

“Yes. As long as it’s the truth. You don’t know if everything will be okay. I don’t know if everything will be okay. Fuck! Dr. Olson doesn’t even know if everything will be okay. I’m tired of it all. I’m tired of hearing those words!”

I turn around so that she’s facing me again. “Look, Genna! Does this look like the face or the body of a person who is okay? Because get close and look hard. I have no hair! Anywhere!” My throat is burning and I can feel the veins popping out on the sides of my neck.

Taking a calming breath, I step away from her, but I don’t break eye contact as I do. I need her to see. To understand what I am going through. No one knows or tries to know. All everyone does is tell me how sorry they are and how everything will be okay. That I will see in due time.

Well, fuck time! All time has ever done to me is hurt me. Time is my enemy.

Give it more time, Aundrea.

More radiation, Aundrea.

More chemo, Aundrea.

One more time, Aundrea.

One more round, Aundrea.

To hell with all this time nonsense!

Tears run down her cheeks as she stares expressionless into my eyes, but I don’t stop.

“You’re not looking.” And she isn’t. She continues to watch my eyes as I hold my arms straight out in front of me. “Look at me!” I scream.

I scream so loudly I’m sure the next-door neighbors can hear me. I wait to hear the footsteps of Jason or my parents running into my bedroom, but no one comes.

Her eyes move to my arms, then back to my eyes with nothing but emptiness behind them.

“Do you see now? It’s not okay.” I speak in a softer tone. I’m ashamed I’ve let a tear break free. I try to brush it off, but another just falls in its place. “Not only did I lose the hair on my head, I lost my eyebrows, my eyelashes, my arm hair … and …” I trail off, but shift my eyes to the floor. “It’s all gone.” I choke on my words, trying to get them all out.

“I’m s—”

I cut her off, holding my hand up. “Don’t, please.”

I sit down on the edge of my bed, water dripping down my legs and back.

“It’s all gone, Genna. All of it … there’s nothing left.”

I press my face into my hands and break down. It hurts so bad to show weakness, especially over this. It’s not even over the fact that my hair is disappearing. Most people would be thrilled to look down and see they no longer have to shave their legs, underarms, or bikini line. But it’s the fact that it is being taken away from me against my will that hurts more than anything. This thing is ruining my body. It’s deciding for me what stays and what goes.

It’s making the decisions for me.