You, my trusted and loyal community of readers, have helped me work my way through several major decisions over the past year. First, there was the should-we-or-shouldn’t-we-continue-with-chemo conundrum. Then, of course, came the awful choice between removing Austin’s kidney in a preemptive strike against the possibility of cancer returning thus subjecting him (and all of us) to two years of hemodialysis followed by organ transplant versus trusting that surgery, chemo and radiation had done their job in wiping cancer out of his body. Then there were the smaller decisions about my book and how to incorporate the third section and what to title it. And who can forget the still-unresolved issue of when to send Austin to kindergarten?

But suddenly I have a new decision to ponder and, boy, is it a doozy.

Next year is the tenth anniversary of the St. Baldrick’s event in Cleveland and to celebrate, the planners are trying to enlist ten moms.

As in, ten moms to shave their heads.

Oh man, it makes me nervous to even think about! I want to do it. I mean, I think I do. At least right now, when it’s nothing but an idea, tucked safely eleven months into the future. I’m not worried about how I’d feel that very day. I’ve seen women do it, fourteen of them last week, and they all look strikingly beautiful and very very proud of themselves. (See professional photos from the event here; my family is between 83 and 120.) But the next day or week or month, when they have fuzz sprouting from their heads and have to attend someone’s wedding or a business meeting or who knows what . . . that’s the stuff I worry about.

I know, it’s only hair and it grows back. But it’s hair and it grows back pretty slowly, especially when it’s as long as mine is now. For the past few days, I’ve suddenly found myself admiring my hair, which is not something I’m used to doing.  I’ll catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and think, uncharacteristically, “Wow, my hair looks so full and shiny . . . do I really want to shave it all off?” Classic case of the grass being greener, I think.

It would make quite a statement though to have ten mothers of cancer patients stand up their together and make that sacrifice on behalf of their children. Ten years, ten moms, ten thousand dollars (each!). That would be my motto.

I know how I am. I know I’ll have moments after the fact when I’m in a major awkward stage and feeling rather ugly, when I would question my decision. But I also know that if ten moms are going to sit in AJ Rocco’s next March and shave their heads, there’s no way I’m not going to be one of them.