Time to shave that dome, Dan. When you come back in two weeks I want your head looking like Michael Jordans.

My mouth dropped open, catching the remaining specks of fine hair drifting aimlessly around the room. Dans sad brown eyes welled up and his chest heaved to gain control as he let out deep sighs. He wouldnt cry, especially not in front of his nurse. In two sentences Jeannie had altered Dans confidence, at least for the time being. When his hair was gone, even strangers would suspect he had cancer.

Arriving home wasnt easy for either of us. Greeted enthusiastically by his dad and sisters and brother, they tried not to focus on Dans scalp. One by one they told Dan how glad they were to have him home, relaying the latest family and friend news. They offered him snacks, movies to watch, car rides to see his friends. My heart broke as we all attempted to heal the wound in his heart. Before Dan started chemotherapy, we had all imagined how wed help him deal with hair loss. Tom and Tommy and Ryan stated theyd shave their heads in support. Allison, Jessica, and I rattled off names of famous people who chose to be bald and we offered to buy hats for Dan to wear. We all assured him the loss would be temporary and the hair would grow back before he knew it. Now, faced with the reality of the situation, all we wanted to do was help Dan get through this by skirting the issue. Finally I suggested he take a shower and get comfortable for bed.

I guess Ill shave this first, Dan motioned to the remaining hair on his head.

That did it. In a split second his sisters were covering his neck with bath towels. His older brother charged up the electric razor for its most challenging task.

Let me do it.

I want a turn.

This is sooo cool.

The hair swiftly fell. Clump by clump it floated onto the towels as Tommy mowed Dans entire scalp. Dan sat patiently, stiffly, on the kitchen chair, too shocked to speak as he bid a silent farewell to his prized hair; too work out from five days of chemo to care about the finality of the moment. What happened next was like a clip from a Grade B movie. His siblings turned his skull in different directions, ignoring the neck attached to it. They marveled at the crisp, clear composition, the smooth dry skin covering the pulsating veins and bony crown. They examined the perfect parallel placement of his ears and their close proximity to his bare scalp. The holes of his hair follicles were visible, appearing like ant hills mounded on a flat sidewalk. Tom and I watched, mesmerized at the audacity of our older children. Here was our beloved son, their brother, fighting for his life and they were making light of his hair loss! In the next instant, Dan was bending over, his face to his knees, as Allison smeared gobs of creamy, velvety peanut butter over the entire shaved area of his head.

I think the dogs are going to love this, Jessica giddily reassured him.

Dont worry Dan, Allison piped in. The peanut butter is brand name, not some generic knockoff. The higher the cost, the more palatable it will be.

Palatable? I was horrified. Palatable for whom? Our healthy, well-fed dogs? In my naivet, I thought this peanut butter-smearing orgy was intended to close the hair follicles or even out Dans skin color! His sisters were after all, experts in self-beautification techniques using all types of foods---lemons, oatmeal, yogurt to name a few. They could close pores, smoothen dry skin and make dull hair shine by raiding the refrigerator or pantry. I thought they were about to give Dans baldhead the same benefits. Instead, Dans head was being prepared for a canine culinary feast!

Without another word, our three hungry, feisty dogs were slurping, gobbling and drooling the peanut butter down Dans head. They licked every last morsel and barked for more. Obligingly, Allison and Jessica scooped more peanut butter onto Dans head, laughing hysterically at their genius. And then the strangest, most unexpected sound filled the room. It was Dan. Laughing with a resounding bellow, he urged his sisters to get my ears and the back of my head. He lowered his head willingly for the dogs as they licked away. He held our small Maltese in his lap so it could reach his ears. Soon the whole family was doubling over at the scene-taking place.

When the jar was empty and the dogs uncomfortably full, Jessica, Allison and Tommy hugged Danny tightly and helped him get upstairs to shower off the oily residue on his head. Meanwhile, Tom took the shaver into the bathroom and shaved his already hair-challenged head. His head would remain that way until Dans hair began to grow after his final treatment.

I sat in the kitchen, replaying the scenes in my head. Upstairs I heard Jessica speaking to Dan.

I knew we could turn this into something positive, Dan. The dogs definitely enjoyed your head.

Tom, now hairless, came into the kitchen and I cried. Not tears of sadness (although I was sorry Dans and Toms hair was temporarily gone), but tears of relief and hope. Dan had conquered a major loss in cancer treatment. Gone was the devastation, the self-pity. He was ready to move on with the remaining treatments and continue his life. I knew in my heart on this evening that Dan would be a survivor; he had acquired the attitude of a survivor.

No matter how long or short his life was going to be, Dan would make the best of it. And isnt that what being a survivor is all about? Not measuring life by numbers but through experiences and attitude. Dan, I knew, was a survivor.