In June, 2014, I woke up after experiencing a three-day psychotic break to a whole new world. While I’d been out of my mind, surgeons had gone into it and removed a massive tumor I had no idea was there. To the good, I was told I could have been paralyzed, stroked out, or outright died because the tumor had grown so large it had literally knocked my brain around a little.
The doctors, unsure of what condition I’d be in when I woke up, had prepared my family for the worst. So they were amazed that when the time came, I was able to walk out of there and return home, perfectly able to walk, think, and take care of myself.
There were some changes and challenges, of course. For one thing, they’d shaved half my head, which I still feel some kind of way about. The fact that I’d worn micro-braids for so long nobody had any real idea what my natural hair looked like was beside the point.
I knew my healthy head of hair was long and thick and lovely, and I hated the idea that my new haircut left half my head looking like I’d gotten a Brazilian wax from a seriously myopic aesthetician. Maybe that’s superficial and silly, but it’s real. Shallow people have feelings too, and the idea of losing all my hair left me shook.