An Early Christmas Present

Huge, white snowflakes dotted the air as four new female friends exited the government building. Thirty minutes prior, they did not know each other although they are connected by a medical diagnosis hidden under real hair wigs and a rose-colored hat. The government guards asked for photo identification when they first arrived never noticing anything out-of-the-ordinary about their appearance.

Thirty minutes earlier the women, along with the father of one of the young women in attendance, shared their struggles with their diagnosis of alopecia, an autoimmune disorder that affects 6.8 million people in the U.S. One woman brought the listeners to tears as she recounted her twenty-one year battle as a woman entrepreneur covering up her condition from customers and sharing heartache about her teenage son with the same disorder. Another very stylish woman who went last telling her story, admitted to wearing a wig since she was fifteen just like the young woman whose father brought her to the meeting to share why having a wig was essential for her well being.

I was wearing my new rose-colored hat, without a wig, so I could take off the hat and show the people at the table my baldness from the disease while speaking about losing my identity and revenue as a small business owner after a year and a half of losing my hair with medical sabbaticals. The stark look of my round, shiny head has become my unexpected business card in many ways and if I wanted to make an impact I felt I had to show it to our state senator’s assistants as we pleaded for their support of a bill that would make wigs an approved medical expenditure by insurance companies and Medicare. The fifteen-year-old girl was brilliant at explaining her struggles playing sports, being bullied at school and living a normal life. Her wig costs $10,000 to start and another $5,000 per year to maintain.

We knew we impacted the listeners who promised to share the bill and its importance with the senators. Realistically they told us, it might take some time, to get passed but they thought their bosses would back the small, simple bill. Emerging from the building with some hope for our shared plight, the snowflakes felt like a sign from heaven telling us we did well.

What else can you do but hope when you approach something new that could make a positive impact in the world? All it took was four brave women, one committed father, people listening with an open heart and a sign from above in the form of snowflakes to feel good about our efforts on behalf of so many other people. It was an early Christmas present, I won’t forget.