Wig

It was hard to conceal my laughter, and I had to seal my lips tightly to stop myself from grinning. Mum sat in front of a big mirror, one of those mirrors lit with lights on the side found in the backstage room of a big celebrity. The friendly saleslady stood behind her and complimented her on the new look. I was reminded of the big and puffy hairdos of the 70s.

On glass shelves all around us were heads of mannequins, male and female, each with different cuts, colours and lengths of hair. At first glance, the heads looked creepily lifelike, as if I was surrounded by the severed heads of poor souls who had been freshly guillotined. But on second thoughts I realised again that looking lifelike was the very purpose of wearing a wig: to give the outside world a semblance of normality.

Mum put on a number of wigs, which ranged from thousands to tens of thousands of New Taiwan dollars. Before we walked into that boutique, I did not know there were so many kinds. Some made completely with real human hair, others are a blend of synthetic and real hair, and there are yet others (of poor quality, which the store did not sell) which are completely made of cheap synethetic materials. The difference is in the weight, naturalness and feel of the hair, and also of the "scalp", as there are different stichings which make the "scalp" look and feel like the top of someone's head.

At first, mum avoided the "c-" word. She said a 'friend' had introduced her to the store, but I knew deep down that this 'friend' was a nurse at the oncology ward earlier today. Mum sat on the chair as she put on wig after wig, and with wig she became more and more down.

"Losing hair, I constantly find it difficult to accept," said mumas she looked at her new self in the mirror, "I think I will not go out anymore." The lady at the store tried to encourage her and assure her that not all hair will fall out and that the hair will grow back, that it is more and more common these days, that having cancer is like the common flu, and chemo is just a treatment so that it will make you better in the end.

I was not sure if mum was comforted and I said nothing, even though I wanted to say something to add to the words of encouragement. But the bursting grin moments earlier almost instantaneously became moisture at the corners of my eyes.

In the back of the boutique was a hair parlour, with all the tools and equipments of a hairdresser. As the lady said, the wig can be fashioned to whatever style mum wanted, and every now and then it can be washed and cleaned. Just like you do with real hair. There was one wig mum seemed particularly satisfied with, but it cost a lot. "Comfort and making you feel better is more important," I said, and quietly thought about going to withdraw the money for her to buy the wig.

We left the store empty handed, but I was sure we would be back again soon. Though mum still has her hair, that may not be the case in a few months, or even weeks...