Busted - Monday, March 8, 2010

Once the wig came off, I did not want to put it on again for any reason whatsoever. However, there are times when it becomes necessary to do something you dislike for the "greater good". In this case, the "greater good" being deception. When I first received the diagnosis of cancer I did not want to tell anyone, not even some of my immediate family, let alone the relatives. In fact, I waited to tell most of the staff any details until after the operation. It was a very hard thing for me to talk about as I am sure some of you can understand. In regard to my relatives, I did not want to be the next story to discuss although they are not the gossiping kind. A few knew of my challenge because someone in my immediate family told them, but thankfully, they were able to keep a secret. Then came Sunday. My sister and I were to attend the viewing of my cousin’s mother-in-law. I had intended to wear "Abby" in order not to arouse suspicion, but I was lamenting it. At the last minute I asked my sister if she thought I forego wearing the wig and still look "normal." (You know, as if I purposefully had cut my hair really short.) She thought I could, so off we went to the funeral parlor sans "Abby." It was the usual Italian-American viewing, a lot of people talking and laughing loudly. Even if you shout to the person next to you, it is difficult to be heard. I actually prefer this type of wake because people are enjoying each other even though they are grieving. Anyway, everything was going as planned, meaning my relatives seemed to believe I was wearing a newer, shorter "do" on purpose until my cousin, the nurse, walked in the door. In hindsight, I should have left before she arrived as planned and my charade would have been successful. But, no, I had the "gabbies" and wanted to keep chatting with my cousins and aunt. Big mistake. The first thing she said upon seeing me was, "Are you alright?" I was a little puzzled by the remark, but answered that I was fine. She then became distracted by a remark made by someone in line. I mistakenly thought that was the end of it. Later, as I hugged her goodbye, she asked if I had been in the hospital. Well......there was nothing left to do but confess. When I asked her how she knew, she pointed to my hair and then reminded me that she was a nurse of thirty years and was trained to read people. To my surprise, she had worked as an oncology nurse with my surgeon and even named one of her sons after him. At that point, the term "small world" came to mind. One good thing was that she understood my desire that the rest of the family not know what had happened. However, when we left I could not help but lament the fact that I had been "busted."