No puedo creer que han pasado 25 años desde que me operaron de un tumor canceroso… ¡guau! Hace 25 años, nunca pensé llegar a ser adulta, a ser tía, a ser maestra… Y nunca pensé poder aceptar tener el cabello corto. Hola a todos…I know it’s been a while – after school let out and another graduation went by, all I have wanted to do is SLEEP. Dormir, leer para el placer de hacerlo y pasar tiempo con mi mamá…O mi mamá…
So we left off with the surgeon finally coming in to cut my hair — Oh, but that sentence does that specific moment in my life no justice. Ese fue un momento que – ahora sé que ella sufrió conmigo, pero entonces – pensé…sentí…como si en ese instante de mi vida – durante esos minutos cruciales para mí, mi madre no era parte de mi equipo. I felt as if for the longest time, Mom and I had been on the same team: madre e hija – uña y mugre. But at that moment, my mom took her jersey off, threw it on the floor and coldly whispered , “I am not on your team anymore.”
About half an hour after I had so fervently kicked him in the crotch, the surgeon walked in again – with reinforcements. I couldn’t move, my arms were tied to the sides of the bed and my legs were held down. My mother came over to me, held my hand, and just watched as the doctor got closer – scissors approaching. Volteé la cabeza para verle la cara bien – mis ojos le gritaron, «¿Vas a permitir esto?»
“Mom!” my eyes drowning in tears of confusion, frustration and pain yelled out, “are you really going to let him do this to me?!?”
She was silent. I heard a buzzing sound; the doctor proceeded to shave my head. As the brownish locks fell and the military crew cut appeared, my eyes shut to rest on my damp cheeks. I shook my head in rage; a nurse held the sides of my face and kept my head in place. I screamed as loud as I could. I was being tortured and my own mother had betrayed me. The buzzing sound of the electric razor finally stopped.
I looked over at my former teammate, her eyes were damp too.
Twenty-five years later, my hair has not grown back past my shoulders and is not nearly as thick as it was before; but I have learned to accept it. I have my sight, I can move all my limbs, I can breathe…there are so many things that I do have – that now I know, my hair does not define my person –does not define me. As for my mother, pues siempre ha sido parte de mi equipo – aunque a veces no lleva puesto el mismo jersey.