This morning still held yesterday's warmth with no doubt that it would be heating up again. It's the first day that I can remember that I went from afternoon, through evening and night and into morning with my head completely bare. I was home, so only my family would have seen me. In the usual mad rush to get lunches made, shoes found and boys off to school (the girl, at two and a half often beats them getting dressed, though I did have to veto wearing her fanciest dress to preschool this morning), I consciously didn't make time to put on hair, and I didn't feel like pulling a cap over my head.

Still it didn't register when I passed our neighbor, already returning from her school run, and waved that she would have seen a bald woman driving my car. Only after I had hopped out at the school curb to urge my kindergartener out of the minivan did I remember that I was bald. Bald. A bald woman. All the parents driving by, some known to me, some unknown yet nearly all familiar, all the kids, anyone could see that I was bald. I ducked my head in the minivan door and then quickly got back into my driver's seat.

I had a medical appointment to head to (my first mammogram--yay!) and thought it would be interesting to go in bald. Well, I'm not sure "interesting" is the perfect word but it does capture the sense of heading into the unknown with trepidation just barely outweighed by curiosity and assertiveness. Of course, I didn't count on driving past an elderly neighbor walking on our road after I made quick stop at home. I smiled and waved but realized my smile was restrained.

When I parked at the doctor's office I hesitated. I picked up a thin cap and tucked it in my bag, telling myself it might be cold inside. I walked up the steps and in the door, and there I was. No one said anything or looked longer or more intently than polite. I wondered, was it somehow in poor taste to walk into a business that, one way or another, deals with cancer with my bald head. Could it be disrespectful of the realities of chemotherapy? But I wasn't there to make a statement. I wasn't there to be a bald woman. I was just there to see if I could go out into the world without my head covered. It was research, I told myself. I could try going bald and see if it worked or not.

How does one know if going bald "works"? I wondered if the nurse's questions about whether I had ever had cancer were somehow more pointed than usual, but I don't really think so. I turned a conversation about insurance deductibles with the doctor into a confession of sorts that I had lost my hair, tying it in by saying I had had lab work done. She commented that she had thought it was just my style. My next stop was Trader Joe's to buy groceries. There was no need for me to go in uncovered. I had at least the thin hat with me, but this was research! I gathered my shopping bags and held my head high as I headed in. My sunglasses lent me some confidence, and I kept them on in the store, noting that at least one other woman had her sunglasses on inside. But when the guy serving samples asked how I was, and I told him I was trying to be brave and why, it seemed silly to hide behind darkened lenses, and I propped them on my forehead. He said he thought I looked good. I told him thank you, but that I was sure I looked better with hair. Still, with his compliment (and the free coffee sample working it's way into my mood) I felt more confident. Did the woman at the checkout offer me a free paper bag for my excess purchases because she felt some pity for me? I will never know.

In a few minutes I will have to go get my daughter at preschool. What will I do? I don't really have to decide about hair or no hair, since a sun hat is called for anyway. Most of the parents know about my hair loss. The teacher, who is a dear woman, is always focused on how thing impact the children, and would probably wish that I looked "normal" for the kids even as part of her curriculum is to encourage their young minds to be open to differences. She would prefer "bald" to be something discussed at circle time and not suddenly appearing the play yard. She might think "bald" was more appropriate subject matter for the pre-K class rather than the little kids. I still don't know if I am a bald woman or just someone whose hair hasn't yet grown back. You and I know that those can be one and the same.