Phenomenal Phin and the Haircut Party

Mr. Nate gives Phin a "phresh" cut

  As you may have noticed in photos, Phin has maintained a decent amount of hair as he traversed through rounds 1-3 of chemotherapy. Despite the enormous amount he lost in the beginning (re: Dustin's likening the strands of hair to thousands of pine needles scattered across his hospital room floor and bed), a light, almost blonde-ish toupee of hair remained staunch in its determination to hang on. But this last round really wreaked havoc on what remained and, with each passing day, more strands gave up the fight, leaving behind a layer of hair that resembled a light dust cloud surrounding his head. It reminded me ever-so-slightly of a Peanuts character. I'd say "Pigpen" for obvious "dusty" reasons, but, in truth, most of the male characters had about the same amount of sketched-in strands of hair as Phin, so any one that comes to mind will suffice. Anyway, Phin has never been fond of haircuts and just because most of his had fallen out and he really hated it when the remaining few got in his sheets or on the floor or in his clothes, on my clothes, in his food, on the tray, on his animals...etc. he didn't want to entertain a haircut with scissors.

        With scissors.

He did not, however, protest against a Haircut Party with clippers. In fact, he relished this idea and decided he even wanted it done before his (hopeful) Bell-Ringing Party. In true saint-fashion, Katie in Child Life helped make some signs and they set to work setting up every stuffed animal in his hospital room (want to join the betting pool on just how many he's up to in here now?) for a viewing party of Phin's haircut. "Just make the long ones like the short ones," he requested. A thing we felt sure we could do.

Phin's animal friends, in VIP-seating, 
await the Haircut Party

It didn't quite go off without a hitch, though. His oncologist requested we wait until after his transfusion of platelets (this is why she's the medical doctor and Dustin and I are the English doctors--some of us have to think of practical issues like potential accidental nicks that bleed profusely due to lack of platelets while others of us focus on the butchering of their, they're and there; whether to use that comma after the "they're" in the previous clause...or the semi-colon, for that matter, or the ellipses or...) and then Dustin--the would-be-barber--had to leave to get the girls who started back to school on Monday because the platelet transfusion seeped into our planned Haircut Party time. And then there was playroom time, which is sacred in our lives and sacrilege for us to miss...

But it all amounted to Mr. Nate being invited during playroom time to the Haircut Party and me being saved the fear of nicking Phin causing profuse bleeding because Mr. Nate had more confidence than I did. We also didn't mention the whole low-platelet-transfusion thing (If you're reading, sorry, Mr. Nate!). We FaceTimed Dustin and Phin's sisters, who called out their encouragement. Phin's healthcare team gathered with his animals to offer moral support, if he needed it (cheering, if he didn’t). I prepared to cry, also, if needed. But he didn't and I didn't. Instead, we all watched this brave little boy sit still and quietly endure, yet again, something he never wanted or planned for.

And Phin giggled the whole way through, asking only one question before we began: will there be scissors?

No, sweet boy, there will definitely not be scissors.

And Mickey Monka's Mama (on loan from Av) got a new 'do, too.

Holding Phin as he fell asleep tonight transported me back to his nursery five years ago, the moon splaying silver across his room, his sleeping inhale-exhales escaping in slow rhythm as we rocked, a crop of new peach fuzz hair nestled against the palm of my hand. I could practically hear his sisters gushing all over again: "He's the most handsome little boy I've ever seen!"

Phin, 2017 and today.