Free Book Excerpts : LESSONS FROM A BALD CHICK by Mary Beth Hall

Find out how to walk alongside a friend battling cancer and the do’s and don’ts of friendships and relationships when cancer comes calling. Learn how to face cancer through lessons learned from this bald Chick.

Excerpt

We all have been touched by cancer. This witty inspirational book gives life
lessons on how to get through the cancer experience from the perspective of a
cancer survivor. Lessons included are for the patient and the friend offering
assistance.

Lessons From A Bald Chick

Buy The Complete Version of This Book at
Booklocker.com:

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LESSONS FROM A BALD
CHICK

Mary Beth Hall

ISBN 978-1-60145-726-4

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in
any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
recording or otherwise, without the prior written
permission of the author.

Printed in the United States of America.

BookLocker.com, Inc.
2009

Table of Contents

Normalcy Is Overrated ………………………………………………1
Stubborn Ox …………………………………………………………….7
Thursdays Cannot Be Trusted …………………………………..11
When In Doubt, Party………………………………………………15
Maturity Doesn’t Work ……………………………………………25
Dress Rehearsal ………………………………………………………29
Friends Come In All Sizes. Forgive Them If They Are

A Size 2. …………………………………………………………..33
Panic Attacks Do Not Help ………………………………………45
God Did Not Create The Scale. Another Male Did. ……55
A T-Shirt For A Cause …………………………………………….73
Hurry Up And Wait…………………………………………………79
Insurance, Anyone?…………………………………………………87
Breakfast Of Champions ………………………………………….91
Work, A Four-Letter Word ………………………………………95
Life Coach ……………………………………………………………..99
A Call To Action …………………………………………………..105

Normalcy is Overrated

I am a 46-year-old wife, mom, guidance counselor,
and Christian; not necessarily in that order. So far, I
have been in education 22 years as an elementary
teacher, middle school teacher, writing teacher, special
education teacher, reading specialist, university instructor,
and counselor. I have an undergraduate degree in special
education and regular education, a master’s degree in
administration, a master’s degree in counseling, and
certification for school principal. All of these degrees
mean one thing only; I am flat broke.

I am not normal.

When my kids burp at the dinner table I rate them
on a scale of one to ten and loudly chastise them if they
score anything below five. I’ve threatened them on
occasion for anything below a three. I try to keep other
bodily noises to a minimum (at least at the dinner table),
so I think I get points for that. I’ve taught my sons since
they were old enough to kick a ball that it doesn’t matter
if you win or lose, what matters is how your hair looks
while you are playing. I tell them every winter in all
sincerity not to eat yellow snow. I am convinced when
their friends come over they come to play with me and
seeing my boys is just an added benefit. I like to serve
meals as if I am the waitress and when I put the plate in
front of each person I love to say with life or death
severity, “Now, this plate is very hot. Be veeeerrrrrry

MARY BETH HALL

careful”. Sometimes I serve meals of only one color. I
love pajama parties. I believe pumpkin pie is a breakfast
food. Tipping the whipped cream canister completely
upside down and squirting as much as possible into each
other’s mouths and dousing the floor, cabinets,
refrigerator, and sometimes ceiling is huge fun in my
world. My boys get in big trouble when their father walks
in the kitchen and sees the mess. They innocently point
their fingers at me because yes, I started it. I am not right.
I admit that.

I am married to a prince. When he reprimands the
boys for slurping loudly from their cereal bowls and they
protest I taught them cereal tastes better this way, he
doesn’t chastise me (in front of them). When the boys and
I have pajama parties and the son in the top bunk sits up
in his sleep and gets whacked in the head by the ceiling
fan, resulting in a blood bath and an emergency room visit
at 4:00 a.m. and double-digit stitches, my prince just
shakes his head, mumbles to himself about not
understanding why we can’t sleep in our own beds like
normal people, and starts spending excessive amounts of
time by himself in the garage sitting in his boat. At these
times I try scaling back on my behaviors to get him out of
his boat, but so far I’m not having much luck. I saw him
moving his shaving gear and pillow in there the other day.

My husband treats me like a queen. On the next
April Fool’s Day we will be married 20 years. I am
acutely aware I do not deserve this man. He is a gift
straight from the hands of God. Why God was mad at him

LESSONS FROM A BALD CHICK

and sacked him with me I will never know. All I can do is
keep thanking God for him and pray this man never learns
what I am really like.

Curtis and I are complete opposites but we are
both in love with the same person; me. Oh yeah, and God.
We started our marriage on our wedding night praying
together in our hotel room. I told him once if either of us
ever stopped reading our Bibles we were doomed. He
responded with a look that summed it up in one word:
“Duh!” Our focus on God is what keeps us on track and
steady through the years. This involves knowing God
through having a relationship with Him. I’ve known God
since I was 25 years old, and I have learned He is a God
who keeps His promises. I’ve learned He has many facets
to His personality, and I plan to spend the rest of my life
learning about them. One of my favorites is His great
sense of humor.

I met my husband by teaching next door to him. I
thought Curtis was the nicest guy I had ever met. As we
got to know one another and share about our daily lives it
became apparent I did not approve of the girls he dated. In
my opinion, these ditzy girls didn’t deserve such a man of
deep quality. Although he didn’t ask for it, I told Curtis
my opinion often. I’m surprised the guy ever spoke to me
at all during that school year.

Since I had such strong opinions about this nice
guy, I began praying for him. In my deluded mind I
believed a nice and kind man deserved a sweet and gentle
woman. I asked God to send Curtis the sweetest, most

MARY BETH HALL

gentle, quiet, and meek woman He ever created. I kept
telling God Curtis deserved this type of person in his life.
I begged God on Curtis’ behalf during my morning
commutes to work. I specifically asked for this woman to
be madly in love with Curtis and treat him the special way
he deserved. This went on for many months.

When Curtis and I dated and later married, I
laughed at what God had done. Yes, He gave Curtis a
woman who loved him, but sweet, kind, meek, and gentle
have never been adjectives attached to me. Curtis got a
mouthy, opinionated, strong-willed, determined,
immature, impulsive bride. Poor guy! All those mornings
praying for Curtis’s wife probably had God laughing
because He knew who He had in mind for Curtis, and it
sure wasn’t the Southern belle I was asking for. Yes, God
has a sense of humor. A bit warped, in my opinion, but
still a good one.

Our courtship lasted one year. I became a
Christian three years before I met Curtis and after
spending seven years in a relationship that was a big fat
waste of time I asked God to pick out my husband for me.
I gave God my standard list of qualifications and asked
Him to get back to me when He was ready to fill my
prescription. I asked Him if it wasn’t too big of an
inconvenience could he sort of hurry up because I didn’t
feel like waiting long. I completely trusted God to take
care of this for me.

Curtis and I started dating completely without my
knowledge. We had a spaghetti dinner fundraiser at

LESSONS FROM A BALD CHICK

school and Curtis and I were delegated to purchase the
paper products one Saturday. He picked me up at my
apartment and we went shopping and then to lunch. I
didn’t know until much later that Curtis considered that
our first date. I don’t know what he considered the date I
had with someone else later that night.

I have spent the last 19 years realizing anew what
a gift from God this man is. God not only filled my order
completely, but He went above and beyond what I had
asked for and gave me a man with qualities that I didn’t
even know I needed or wanted in a mate. That is so like
God; to not only fill the cup, but make it run over. I am so
glad I had the good sense to ask God to pick out my
husband and then even better sense to wait until He did.

Stubborn Ox

T his husband I got from God is a frustrating,
irritating, and stubborn ox. When the yearly form
letter came reminding me to have my
mammogram Curtis immediately demanded to know
when I was going to have it done. I told him I would call
for the appointment soon. He proceeded to harass, annoy,
and badger me until I knew the only way to shut the guy
up was to make the appointment.

Like a good girl I had my yearly mammogram on
spring break. As an educator, I usually have my
mammograms during the summer when I have more
leisure time and my days are full of huge decisions such
as which side to turn onto while on the hammock, but I
was mad at God last summer because I was not getting
the job I wanted. Being the spiritually mature person that
I am I was too busy trying to force God’s hand (a
COMPLETE waste of time, do not try it) that I put off my
mammogram until I had another stretch of free time,
which was spring break.

Before spring break I noticed I was unusually tired
and not rested after naps. I have a black belt in napping,
so for my naps to backfire on me and leave me drained
caused me to think two things. One, that I was pregnant,
which would result in big fat YIPPEES from me and a not
so big fat yippee from Curtis who informed me years
before when I thought I wanted to have another baby that

MARY BETH HALL

I was too old. This resulted in my extremely quick-witted
(so quick it was almost genius. Sometimes I amaze
myself) comment that my boyfriend didn’t think so.
Hilarious, if you ask me. Immature, if you ask Curtis.

The other scenario I envisioned for my fatigue was
that I was dying from a terrible disease. This is exactly
what I told Curtis and others who were getting suspicious
and asking questions about my lethargy. My co-worker
started getting suspicious one day when I was at my
computer for an awfully long time without typing or
clicking the mouse. My back was to her and she thought I
was reading an extremely long message. It turned out I
was sound asleep in the middle of the day sitting upright
at my computer. I think I started getting suspicious then,
too. Usually when I sleep at work I curl up under my desk
where nobody can find me. Sleeping out in the open like
that was crossing even my boundary lines and was, well,
embarrassing.

Anyway, those were my two scenarios. I was
hoping for the former because I adore every single thing
about babies and motherhood (except potty training,
which really should have been taken care of by God
before He sent me the smelly little angels) and the latter,
which although I was saying I was dying from a terrible
disease I didn’t really believe it. That happened to other
people. This left me with just being tired.

So, I was tired. I would get over it. It was my
blood thinning out for the upcoming summer. In winter I
always used the excuse for a nap on the completely

LESSONS FROM A BALD CHICK

scientific fact made up by me that my blood was
thickening for the cold months ahead. Never mind that
during this time every show I watched seemed to have a
cancer victim, every book I picked up had a cancer topic,
and every conversation somehow included cancer. I could
not get away from cancer. I started having that “Uh Oh
Feeling” inside that God was trying to get my attention on
something that I was not interested in having my attention
gotten on, so like the mature and deeply spiritual person
that I am, I ignored it all as best I could.

When the woman who performed my
mammogram, whom I like to secretly call the Very-Evil-
Person-Who-Squashed-Me-Flatter-Than-God-Never-
Intended (okay, maybe I don’t secretly call her that,
maybe I actually screamed that at her while cradling my
limp flattened self) came back in the mammogram room
and said in her very evil voice,

“Ha ha ha, now we’ve got you, don’t think you
can run from us, Sucker!”

Or maybe she said,

“We need to take a few more pictures, you
weren’t quite on there all the way,” the “Uh Oh Feeling”
returned in full force, accompanied by its good friend, the
“Oh No Feeling”. I told myself to stop being silly. Tons
of women have to stay and have more fun having another
mammogram. It happens all the time. It means absolutely
nothing. The fact that God kept reminding me He was
there and would never leave me meant nothing”¦..really. I

MARY BETH HALL

happily went home to reinflate myself and play very hard
on spring break, which consisted of painting a different
room every day in our house (I know, I’m a party animal)
and ignore the fact that I am a horrible painter and create
bigger messes that take more time to clean up than to
actually paint the entire room.

LESSON: Denial works”¦”¦.”¦”¦ sort of.

Thursdays Cannot Be Trusted

M y mammogram was on Thursday. I painted my
son’s bedroom the following Monday. I’m a
really quick painter so it took me only nine
hours. I took a lunch break and watched ten minutes of
television during which the movie I landed on had a
breast cancer victim and the two commercials I saw in my
haste to change the channel were about cancer
medications. Enough TV, time to get back to destroying
my son’s room.

Sweetie came home from work, (he is a big
important superintendant of a school system) and
promptly declared that I made the usual big fat mess of
the room, and why didn’t I at least take off the light
switch covers instead of trying to paint around them? I
followed him around the house, pouting, sighing loudly,
and dragging my knuckles on the ground in defeat until he
finally assured me that the room was fine and he was glad
he does not go in there often. My feelings pacified, I then
went about welcoming home from school my two reasons
for existing; Alex, age 15 and Benjamin, age 13, and then
happily proceeded to burn dinner.

The next day I could not hold my head up and
spent the day on the couch reading. I was worn out from
all of that painting and really, thinking I would paint a
whole room a day was probably biting off more than I
could chew and I should change my goal to painting a
room, which I already did, which meant I could spend the

MARY BETH HALL

rest of the week on the couch reading because my blood
was still scientifically thinning, which is precisely what I
did.

The phone rang and I saw on caller ID it was the
hospital. I somehow knew before they even said it that I
was being cordially invited back for more fun and games
with the mammogram machine. This time they were
going to add an ultrasound to the party and to come in
three days. When the phone rang again and it was my
doctor’s office making sure I got the call from the
hospital, I assured myself this was efficient medicine at its
best and thanked them for calling.

When the phone rang a third time and it was the
mammogram center making sure I got the call to come
back I started thinking of filing harassment charges. What
was the big deal? Tons of women get called back daily,
the lady on the phone said so and even added that
statistically eight out of ten call backs (where am I
Hollywood? Not as much fun as I envisioned) were
perfectly fine. So there! I was going to be the eight out of
ten. God whispering to me, “I will never leave you nor
forsake you” was just His way of saying hi.

Being the good girl that I am, plus my stubborn
husband threatening me, I went back to the very nice and
homey and warm and comforting mammogram center at
the hospital. I was actually on time to show everyone that
I was not frightened; I was eight out of ten. I even
entertained the idea of doing a bit of shopping afterward
since I was a woman of leisure on spring break. It didn’t

LESSONS FROM A BALD CHICK

matter that I entertain the idea of shopping on a daily
basis. The crucial part was I knew I would have the
appropriate mind set and attitude for shopping after the
mammogram party.

It turned out I did not have the appropriate mind
set for shopping. I had the mind set of needing someone
to get me off the cliff I was mentally hurtling myself off
of. I realized too late that I needed Husband, whom I
ignorantly previously assured did not need to go with me.

The important medical people performed the
mammogram and the ultrasound, and the nice doctor lady
came in and told me they found something that needed a
biopsy (YIKES!) and blah, blah, blah”¦”¦ I heard nothing
the nice doctor lady was saying after that.

Lesson: Do not go to your second mammogram alone,
ever.

I suppose this is the time to share my mom died of
breast cancer at the age of 67 when I was too young to be
without a mother, which, in my opinion is any age. I
happened to be 36 years old at the time. I remembered her
biopsy experience as very traumatic for her, and so I
immediately retreated to my Happy Place in my mind
which consisted of considering what to burn for dinner
and wondering what time my Darlings would be home
from school.

I then thanked everyone for the lovely party and
insisted I really must go and proceeded to drive to my
husband’s school where I hoped he could put it all into

MARY BETH HALL

perfect perspective for me, or at the bare minimum take
over some of the hysteria for me. Somewhere amidst all
of the fun they gave me an appointment card with the
biopsy date.

This time I invited Hubby to the festivities. The
nurses, doctors, and radiologist who performed the
procedure were calm and orderly. I was an emotional
wreck. I knew. I knew the radiologist knew. I was sure the
doctor knew. The only thing the nurse knew was if they
didn’t hurry up and finish she would qualify for disability
because I was crushing her hand. When it was over I
crashed blindly through the hallways crying and
blubbering and heaving myself at Hubby who I hoped
would get me the heck out of there. As I threw myself out
the main door I heard the receptionist call out, “Have a
nice day!” Absolutely nothing made sense in this world
anymore.

My sweetie and I sat in the car until I was finished
secreting nasal mucous all over his suit and tie and then
he promptly did the one thing on earth that makes
everything better. He offered to take me out for breakfast.

LESSON: Do not go to these things alone. Someone is
sure to buy you a meal.

Lessons From A Bald Chick

Buy The Complete Version of This Book at
Booklocker.com:

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Read more about LESSONS FROM A BALD CHICK and Mary Beth Hall HERE.

Copyright 2008 Mary Beth Hall. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Free Book Excerpts

LESSONS FROM A BALD CHICK by Mary Beth Hall

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