The Merits of the Case

Today was my first day back at school for the fall semester. I stood on the train platform this morning with my bag packed with freshly sharpened pencils and new highlighters, blank notebooks, empty folders, and wearing a scarf on my head. I was surprised at how much it took for me to get out of my car in the parking lot and then to walk past my fellow commuters to my chosen spot on the platform. They looked at me; how could they not? Out of the 50 or more people waiting for the 7:05 train this morning, I was the only one wearing a scarf on my head. The only woman who didn’t have hair. And it was hard.

As I stood there waiting for the train, I thought about all the times I’ve tried unobtrusively to steal a glance at the guy in the wheelchair or the woman on crutches or the little person, the person with the breathing tube or pronounced limp. What did I think about those people when I saw them? I couldn’t remember exactly, standing there in what felt a lot like a spotlight.

People didn’t stare at me, but they looked. I could see the movement of their heads out of the corner of my eye and I could sense their eyes on me as I walked by and as we stood there. I don’t know if they felt sorry for me or if perhaps I made them think about their mother/sister/wife/friend with breast cancer (or any kind of cancer). I didn’t meet their eyes, I just let them look. What else could I do, after all? As Stella said not long ago, my hair loss has made me the Chemo Poster Girl. Whether I wanted that role or not (and for the record, I didn’t), I’m stuck with it for awhile.

I will see these same people every Tuesday and Thursday morning from now through December. I know, from experience, that generally it will be the same group of commuters on the platform each morning and that we will all get to know one another by sight. (Most of them already know one another by sight…not everyone has a new schedule every six months like I do.) I think they will stop looking, although some of them may note the fashion show of scarves and hats which I will surely provide. And perhaps by December they will note the gradual return of my real hair. It will get easier for all of us, I think. And maybe the next time they see a woman wearing a scarf, they won’t have to look or to wonder in quite the same way.

The rest of the day was relatively uneventful, although it was certainly exhausting. My professors seem to be good and there are several people I know in both of my classes. I am also working as an editor on a journal this semester, so between the classes and the journal work and, of course, the chemo, I should be busy.

I should mention that everyone at my school, from the administration to the professors to the students, has been wonderful throughout all of this. For example, I will be missing one of my classes every other Thursday afternoon so that I can make it back to the suburbs in time for my treatments. My school has agreed to videotape those lectures for me and then to send the tapes to me via an overnight delivery service so that I don’t miss any class. Both of my professors this semester have offered their assistance to me, and one of them even offered to come to my house for private study sessions if I felt I needed them. (I’m assuming that no one told him before he made the offer that I live 50 miles away from school!) Many of my classmates have offered class notes and outlines to me, and one even gave me a set of keys to her apartment, which is one block away from school, so that I can take naps between classes if I need to. My gratitude to all of these people knows no bounds. They are all making it possible for me to continue with school despite all that I am going through.

During previous semesters I have always used my commute time as a study hall, getting lots of reading done during the hour and a half ride into and back out of the city. Based on my level of tiredness on the way home today, I have a feeling that the time will be better spent as naptime this semester.