Man, Woman, or Sasquatch

Side effects from chemo are keeping me prisoner. Aside from going to the post office a few times, the courthouse twice, and the library only once, I have been staying in our 2nd floor apartment - avoiding the arctic temperatures, as well as all of the cold germs, bacteria, and viruses that float around at this time of year.

The oncologist says to avoid places with twenty or more people, and especially enclosed or cramped spaces that might make me feel crowded or have me overwhelmed with the general smell of humanity. But my youngest son had a middle school home basketball game that I desperately wanted to go and watch. There are usually four games - 8A, 8B, 7A, and 7B. My son usually plays on 7B, so they are the last boys to be on the court. I asked a friend of mine to send me a text when the 8th grade games were over so I could try and time my arrival just as the 8th grade parents were leaving - vacating the primo spots on the curb right by the front doors of the school. I figured if I got a spot that close, I would still stay in my vehicle for awhile, just watching the flow of foot traffic exiting the building, trying to gauge when three out of the four games were done. 

I walked in at about half-time of the 7A game. I was worried that the smells from the popcorn machine, or the crock pots with hot dogs in them, or any of the other wide variety of smells to be found at a middle school basketball game would turn my stomach in a heartbeat. I paid my admission and made it to the doorway going into the gym. I decided rather than take a seat, I was going to hang out in the doorway - just like all of the little,old men do. What's up with that? Are the bleachers just too hard for their bony butts? I didn't care - I wanted to be near the door just in case I needed to exit in a hurry to find a sink, a toilet, a bucket, or a trash can fast. 

Not having the problem of a bony butt yet, I still have plenty of padding.When the 7A game was over and the parents sitting in the front row took off, I had processed enough smells to feel pretty safe in deciding to sit down, but still be close to the door.

Smells came and went right under my nose, and I stayed seated for the whole 7B game. No nausea or queasiness, which I will take as a small victory. The game soon ended and I was one of the first out of the gym, but I stopped while still in the foyer of the school to put on my gloves, hat, and scarf. I heard the voices of some of the 8th graders from the visiting team giggling and snickering. Then, I saw a commotion out of the corner of my eye and as I turned my head ever so slightly towards them, I kept my eyes on my hands and tried to appear focused on putting my gloves on first. In my peripheral vision I could clearly see five or six of them as they moved in a congealed pack looking like a deformed spider of some sort with way too many legs.

The boy in the front of the pack had a white shirt on. His arms contrasted nicely against the dark shirts and coats of his friends and he held them straight out to his sides at shoulder height, as if he were holding back a snarling, maniacal pack of creatures. Holding them back for their own safety, as if protecting them from ... me.

"Oh, you guys!" he said too loudly. "Look at it but don't get too close to it! Is it a man? A woman? Sasquatch?" Uncontrolled laughter rolled through the bunch of adolescents. 

I never made eye contact with any of them, but there was nobody else near the door at the time. They were unmistakeably talking about me. I just kept calmly putting my gloves on, then my little knit hat. Then my giant purple and black woven scarf that I really think is a table runner. They kept giggling and whispering.

White Shirt Boy was clearly the leader and instigator. He was the closest one to me. I considered my options:

 A) I could calmly turn towards the group, greet them with a serene smile, take a hesitant step towards them, and gently, in a non-threatening manner, explain that my buzzcut is a direct result from having cancer and going through chemo. Spell out the facts to their raptly listening faces that it is really unkind to make fun of someone's appearance without any empathy to what might be going on in their life. White Shirt Boy will be moved to tears because his grandmother and aunt have both had breast cancer. He will apologize profusely, and make his little pack of spidery mammals all apologize for giggling at me and making fun of me. They will swear never to do it again and then they will ask me where their parents can make a substantial financial contribution to help me financially during this very difficult time. We will exchange addresses and phone numbers, but no hugs - I kind of germaphobic right now.

B) In two lightening quick strides I could grab the front of White Shirt Boy's shirt with my left hand, preventing him from retreating, and then slam the heel of my right hand cleanly and sharply up and into his nose, shattering it and hopefully pushing bone shards up into his brain. Then while his head was tipped up and back with his eyes glazing over looking into the fluorescent lights on the ceiling, I would put my right hand on his chest and then using both hands, I would pull him forward, slamming my extra-large cranium right into his mouth, definitely bloodying his word hole and hopefully knocking out some lower teeth. He would never know what hit him.

C) I can exit immediately, before I have all my cold-weather gear on.People are starting to exit the gym  in masses now, and that will only give them an audience. My truck is parked on the curb, after all, and I will have to let it run for awhile anyway before it really warms up. I will pretend that their scathing comments and immature behavior did not cut me to the bone. "Forgive them for they know not what they do." I will not spend the rest of the evening on the brink of tears because my first, fairly successful foray into the world with a chemo haircut was chewed up and spit out by adolescent boys. I will act like I never heard any of it. I will remind myself that the same thing happened numerous times throughout my life and although I was horribly embarrassed every time that it did, I survived it every time. 

I am tall. I am strong. I do not wear much makeup other than mascara and a little bit of eyeliner. If I am wearing muddy boots, blue jeans, and a flannel shirt - many people will mistake me for a man or a lesbian. That is not my problem.

I opted for C, but in hindsight, I should have chosen some kind of combination of A and C. I should have found their coach and told them of the incident. I could still call and talk to someone in the administration of that school, but it is not the school's fault that those boys weren't raised correctly by their parents.

I know there are plenty of my friends who would say that B was the only correct choice. I think it's bad enough that I have to explain my preemptive chemo buzzcut to everyone. Not sure that I would want to explain the bite mark impressions across my forehead as well. Might leave a permanent scar and when my hair grows back I would have to have bangs to hide it. I hate bangs.