The Story of the Crocheted Cap

I had just undergone a brutal emergency spinal cord surgery...

Some months earlier I had begun to experience an unaccustomed tiredness in my legs, and falling without warning like my strings had been cut.

A battery of tests revealed an abnormality in my lower spinal cord. It was determined that immediate surgery was called for.

After months of agonizing rehabilitation, my condition continued to deteriorate. Walking was becoming increasingly painful, standing was intolerable. My legs felt like they were made of lead. I was having difficulty urinating, and other related problems down below.

My neurologist subsequently diagnosed me with a condition called Transverse Myelitis, a rare and debilitating disease. He recommended a course of intravenous steroid treatments. I hated them. They made me feel like crap, food tasted like iodine, and I had an allergic skin reaction. Big bumps like pimples erupted all over my scalp and forehead.

Only these weren't pimples. They were hard and painful, but they would not pop. Yet, I kept trying to squeeze them because they hurt so much. There was a cluster of these bumps in one area on my forehead that I could not leave alone. All I accomplished was making them bleed. Then I kept picking at the scabs. Once they "healed," I was left with a nickle sized patch of scar tissue slightly to the right of center.

This became my worry spot. Whenever under physical or mental stress, which was pretty much all the time, I rubbed the spot with my middle finger, being sure to scrape the nail against the scar tissue. I would do this until one arm got tired, then I would switch to the other hand, back and forth all day long, and eventually in my sleep.

My wife pleaded with me to stop, even suggesting I wear mittens at night.

The patch of scar tissue went from nickle sized to quarter sized to the size of a half dollar. And not only was it getting wider in diameter, but a circular bony ridge was forming around it from the constant swirling motion.

My wife had been crocheting hats and donating them to local hospitals and cancer treatment centers since my first go around with testicular cancer some years back. When the patch started really becoming noticeable, I took to wearing the caps. My wife made a number of soft, seasonal hats for me out of beautiful yarns.

In 2012 I was diagnosed with cancer for the second time in the form of lymphoma.

People may think I wear the hats out of vanity, like I'm ashamed of losing my hair. Of course, that's ridiculous because I was bald before any of this happened, and I was certainly not vain about it. But I let them think that.

Being in a wheelchair is bad enough. When I talk to people I want them looking me in the eye, not staring at my forehead, and being drawn by what I say, not repulsed by how I look.

That's why I wear a hat, and feel exposed without one.