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Jodi Richardson is a member of Laura's writing practice and feedback classes. She is also working hard in the Memory to Memoir Intensive. Jodi is writing a memoir about her experiences as a support person to her good friend, Joann, who had cancer. This excerpt, "Hair," is typical of Jodi's unique style--the ability to tackle a difficult subject with irreverence and humor.
I shaved down my hair three times during my friend Joann’s illness. Shaving my head felt good, but not like the big sacrifice some people gave me credit for. Some people would comment, “ I don’t know if I could cut off my hair for my friend, my sister, or whoever…” I usually spared people that didn’t know me very well my personnel encounters with loss and death, which in part fueled my decision to go hairless.
In early spring of 2007, before she was diagnosed with leukemia, Joann had said to me, “You know Jod, if I have cancer I’ll probably have to get chemo and lose all my hair.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. I was way ahead of Joann in having these thoughts but I wasn’t worrying only about hair; I was worried about Joann’s life. Secretly, I thought if I acted optimistic enough on the outside, maybe I could convince myself that things would work out. I had seen cancer’s handiwork and I was sensitive to Joann’s predicament. She was good-looking and much more conscious of her own outward appearance than I’d ever been. I worried how cancer might ugly her up.
While contemplating these private thoughts, Joann hit me with a zinger, “Yeah, but Kenny would probably like to see my muff hairless.”
I hadn’t seen that one coming; but it was these types of comments, “a classic Joann” that make me cherish our friendship. With each other, we often have the ability to lose our social filter and say whatever is on our mind.
We quickly started laughing and immediately going to that place in our friendship that we can’t comfortably go to with others. Our conversation led to a candid discussion about muffs. We laughed about shaggy muffs that billow out of the sides of bathing suits at public pools, and carefully manicured shaved muff landing strips. I excitedly recalled an experience I’d had at a summer bunko party.
Bunko is a mindless social dice game. Teams sit and roll dice and try to accumulate points by rolling ones, then twos and so on. I was invited as a substitute player to a “Spa Day” themed bunko party. In between rounds of bunko, ladies vanished into the backroom where a hired gal was working her hair removal magic. A newfound friend at the party admitted to regularly waxing off all, and I mean all, of her body hair. Joann and I contemplated the positions you’d have to get into so that a waxer could get to some of those intimate areas. We wondered how well you’d have to know the person that goes there. And just how big a tip would that call for?
“Did you know that getting all the hair waxed out of your butt crack is called a Brazilian?” I quizzed Joann with this newfound terminology. “Yeah Joann, she gets one of those wax jobs on a regular basis. She said she never liked her pubic hair. So what, you wake up one morning and decide you don’t like your own bush? How does that happen?”
“I don’t know,” pondered Joann.
“Well, that’s what she said.”
“Wow,” we both exclaimed as the laughter subsided. And then it was quiet for a second; me knowing that this conversation began because of the looming cancer threat.
I broke the silence with the subdued statement of support, “You know Joann, if you lose all your hair and go bald. I’ll shave down for you.”
Without missing a beat Joann said, “Yeah, I kind of figured you would, Jod.”
Her comment made me feel weird in a way that was hard to describe. First off, it was like we both were taking the first steps to admitting to ourselves that cancer was a real possibility. It wasn’t a bad reoccurring dream that would go away. It was going to be something we were going to have to deal with. But Joann knew that I would be there; I would shave my head and ride out the adventure with her. Without her even having to ask, she knew I would be there. But this was all pretty touchy feely for a couple of knuckleheads like us, so I had to tone it down a bit.
“Joann, I wasn’t talking about my head.”
“Good one.” She replied, and we laughed some more.
Jodi and Joann, bald and smiling
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Cool story, good writing, You were and are there for Joann, You've always had a lot of laughter together...from D.O.G. to Mr. Stella (school teacher) Your friendship helped Joann to pull thru, That can't be denied. Good job and good writing Jodi. 
Mary
That was a great story. I work with Joann. You describe her so well , Joann is full of Zingers. LOL 
What a great story classic Jodi and Joann. Thank you for not including a picture of... well let's just say everything you wrote about. I texted Joann the other day to see how you were doing with the fires, how all is well. Yes, I know Laura Davis, or I should say I have her book. Hope all is well with you! Take care Jodi
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