The beginning of our journey began with a special wig stand connecting patients and sharing their stories. Here’s her story, in her own words:
A few years ago, I was just another pretty face in a dusty window display. There were dozens of others just like me on that shelf, gazing out emptily unto the street. My makeup never seemed to smudge and life was good, but I longed for one thing to feel complete:
I saw people outside with it all the time. There were so many different styles and I wondered to myself: What would it be like to have some of my own?
One day a woman came into the store and decided to take me back home with her. The salesman (or “greasy fingers” as we used to call him) grabbed me by the neck and plunged me into a plastic bag.
This was the beginning of my journey.
Once we got home, the woman placed me on her dresser, right by her jewelry box. I could see the hesitation growing in her eyes as she looked into mine. She then pulled her wig off her head and put it onto mine.
It was warm and soft, even better than I’d imagined – I finally had hair!
We took turns with it from then on: she’d wear it during the day and I’d wear it at night. I wouldn’t move at all to keep the hair in place for her to wear the next day. Every once in a while, she’d wash it and I’d soak in the lovely smell of shampoo when she put it back on my head.
We developed a special bond through that wig. Hardly anyone saw her without it on – except for her family and me (does that mean I’m family?). I wish I could have told her that she still looked beautiful even without it on. Some nights when she was feeling especially lonely, she’d talk to me and share what she was going through. She knew I wouldn’t tell anyone how sick she was really feeling.
After a few months, things started to change. The wig started staying on my head longer and longer.
I was worried: Had I been replaced? Was I no longer needed?
One day out of the blue, she wrapped me up and placed me in the closet (with the hair we used to share). It was so lonely in there with nothing more than clothes on both sides.
No one to look at and nothing to do.
Time stood still.
Plus, the wig was growing quite itchy.
Just when I’d almost given up and was planning my escape, a familiar hand pulled me out of the closet. She dusted me off and shined my face.
I felt brand-new again!
That day, she introduced me to another woman wearing a blonde wig (I’d become a pro at spotting them). She looked at me strangely at first but ended up taking me home with her.
What would this next adventure have in store for me?
I’d find out soon enough and so will you..
Wanna read more? Below are more stories from the wig stand and the patients she’s spent time with:
- The Wig that Started it All
- Two in Every Sense of the Word
- Only in Her Thirties
- 9 Months to Recovery Also available in Arabic: تسعة أشهر للتعافي
- “Good Morning Doctor! I have cancer.”
- Bumpy Boobs: Part 1 and Part 2
- Behind-the-Scenes of “The Bald and The Beautiful”