It was about 3am. I had just shuffled back to my hospital bed from the restroom. I needed a nurse’s aide to help me get re-situated in bed. I am a feisty, independent woman. I hate asking for help to go to bed. But I need to be propped up, and re-nested in this clumsy jumble of bedclothes and hospital equipment. A woman comes to help who seems to be in her mid-30’s. I comment about her lovely haircut, trying to get the focus off my clumsiness, my unappealingly infected legs. “Yeah, “ she says, “it grew back well after the chemo. I was relieved.”