Born Again

          Lois Scratched at the sore spot on her scalp, unable to help herself. She was reading the Leviticus 13 section of her Bible where Christ heals the leper. She thought to herself that her scalp must look like a leper’s underneath her thick, long mane of hair. This pandemic had made her psoriasis act up something awful. She had terrible nightmares every night. Lois couldn’t stand not being able to attend her beloved local parish during quarantine. That church had been her life; her only family. She’d never married, even considered becoming a nun at one point, and had gotten a job in the church thirty years ago. It was her first and only real job after finishing high school at Nathan Hale. Lois had always prided herself in being modest, religious, and right. She was always doing the right thing, she often told herself. She never smoked, drank, or popped a bunch of pills that she shouldn’t. Lois was a rules girl. She ate healthy and bought all of her clothes from St. Vincent’s thrift shop. She only bought organic food and the bare necessities to survive on. Her one-bedroom apartment was minimalistic.

           To keep her company, she’d taken to purchasing parakeets. They didn’t live long, and she enjoyed teaching them to whistle and sometimes even to talk. Thankfully, she’d brought home her current bird right before this awful COVID nonsense started. Paul (she named each parakeet after one of the apostles) was now able to whistle the theme to “The Andy Griffith Show,” and the “Jeopardy” theme. He could also squawk, “Jesus love me.” The last one she’d owned (John) had never managed anything beyond “pretty bird.”

           Lois walked every day and exercised with sit-ups, pushups, and a small set of free weights. She considered yoga too new-agey, but she stretched to keep limber. She prayed when she got up in the morning, before each meal, and before going to bed at night. Although Lois was grateful for the virtual services her pastor held, they still weren’t the real thing. For one thing, trying to sing along on Zoom was a hot mess with everyone being out of synch. At her church, Lois had been a member of the choir. She’d been on the bake sale committee and helped give out the wine during communion. She was the chief editor of the monthly bulletin, too.

           Lois had been raised Catholic and had considered herself a good Christian her whole life. She knew there was much evil in the world and was glad she was not a party to any of it. A true conservative at heart, she had a secret crush on Vice President Mike Pence (he had such perfect hair). She also firmly believed that a liberal way of thinking led to liberal misdeeds. She was on the fence about Trump from a moral standpoint but had voted for him both times anyway.

Because she was celibate by choice, she’d never had to worry about the ethical issue of birth control.

           Control and discipline were of the utmost importance to someone like Lois. So when all heck broke loose with this pandemic, it was extremely difficult for her to cope. She’d never felt so out of control in her life, and it terrified her. She’d taken to praying mid-morning and midday along with her other regular sessions. She’d become afraid to go outside lest she catch the deadly plague and took to cleaning her dwelling obsessively, sanitizing things sometimes three times. She had her groceries delivered in and wouldn’t open the door until the person outside was on their way back to the car. The she washed all the produce and sanitized their containers.

           Lois didn’t mean to be pious or petty, but those qualities did come naturally to her. She had always silently judged the people she worked with, her few friends, other churchgoers, strangers walking their dogs through the neighborhood, people on TV.

           As she turned the page in her well-worn King James, she scratched at the spot on her scalp again. This time, a small clump of hair came out in her fingers. Disgusted, Lois marked her place and leapt up out of her armchair, to inspect the spot more closely in the bathroom. She’d read that many women were experiencing hair loss issues with the stress of the pandemic (or was it from being infected by the virus?) and was afraid that she too, could fall victim to this terrible fate.

           Lois parted her hair at the spot to peer at it in the bathroom mirror. It was red and irritated for certain, as well as scaly. The spot was on the right side of her upper temple. Did it look like the start of a bald spot? Holding her breath she parted her hair more, to see if there were still strands continuing to grow out of the raw spot. With a sinking sensation, Lois saw that there were none. Even though pride was a sin, Lois had always been quietly proud of her pretty head of hair. She’d taken it completely for granted that she would always have that. Perhaps she could pray about it? The Lord does work in mysterious ways, as they say. She resolved to add this one to her daily litany: “Lord, please let me keep my hair. Don’t let it all go away. Please let this only be temporary. Let my hair return in all its lustrous glory. Amen.”

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           Later that week, Lois was reading a particularly disturbing passage in Matthew Chapter 12 of her Bible regarding demons: ⁴³ “When the unclean spirit is gone out of a man, he walketh through dry places, seeking rest, and findeth none.

⁴⁴ Then he saith, I will return into my house from whence I came out; and when he is come, he findeth it empty, swept, and garnished.

⁴⁵ Then goeth he, and taketh with himself seven other spirits more wicked than himself, and they enter in and dwell there: and the last state of that man is worse than the first. Even so shall it be also unto this wicked generation.”

           Lois absent-mindedly had begun to itch her opposite temple, scratching it raw. Exasperated, she heaved herself out of the chair to check in the bathroom again. Much to her dismay, she saw an identical bald spot forming on the other side of her head. She’d read about this, too. Female alopecia. It could occur in weird patterns and patches, usually around the crown of the head. The condition was often stress related, many times due to hormonal changes. Throw

in the pandemic and the COVID crap flying around out there, and you had a perfect mix for hair loss. Sometimes Lois couldn’t stand being a woman. Of course this happened to women more often than men. Women seemed to get stuck with all the rough deals. Since she’d never aspired to marry or bear someone’s children, she didn’t really see why she should have to suffer all the hardships that other people of her sex did.

           Lois trotted out to the kitchen to grab a can of organic pumpkin puree off her cupboard shelf. She cracked it open with a hand opener and scooped out big handfuls of the gooey, fragrant fall squash out to lather all over her scalp. She’d read recently in one of her women’s magazines that both sweet potato and pumpkin could help moisturize an irritated scalp and in

turn, promote healthy hair growth. She hurried back to her bathroom to yank her plastic shower cap with rubber duckies all over it snugly down on her head and stomped off to the living room to resume her daily scripture reading. Lois was prepared to leave the concoction on all night, if necessary.

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           When Lois awoke the next day, she was confused. At first she’d forgotten she’d left the shower cap on her head, and she couldn’t make an immediate association between the pumpkin smell and the present. She hadn’t slept through until Thanksgiving, had she? Last time she checked; it had been August. Then she remembered, chuckling to herself.

           Lois put some coffee on and proceeded to run a nice hot shower to wash her hair. Surely this treatment could only help. She closed her eyes, luxuriating in the steam and heat of the water, breathing deep. She’d been sure to put the rubber drain catcher on, so she didn’t end up

with a clogged tub. She rinsed the pumpkin out of her hair and proceeded to lather up with a moisturizing coconut shampoo-conditioner combo that should help as well.

           After she’d turned off the water and reached for the towel on the wall rack, her eyes were squinted shut to keep from any residual shampoo soap from getting in them. She massaged her head and put the towel up to pat her face. When she took it away, her eyes opened to spot big clumps of her hair mixed in with the globs of wet pumpkin puree piled around the drain catcher. It looked positively disgusting, and Lois was horrified at the amount of hair she was staring at. She felt around her head and gasped.

           She almost slipped getting in her hurry to get out of the tub and open up the bathroom door. Normally, she would have left it shut and cleared her dry sinuses by breathing in the steam

awhile longer. Now she just wanted to wipe down the mirror to get a better look, even if she was dreading what she might see. As she wiped the last of the steam away from the mirror, Lois almost burst out crying. The bald patches on either side of her temple had indeed gotten noticeably larger. Now it looked like the hair was beginning to thin and recede more in front where she’d once had a nice thick side part of bangs.

           Lois parted the hair, rubbing at the remaining strands as if to stretch it out longer or force it to grow. Maybe she should make an appointment with her dermatologist? Wasn’t that something suggested on one of the online forums she’d read, if this condition started to get more aggressive?

           Beyond upset, Lois stalked away from the mirror. Now her bottom lip started to quiver, and she was crying. It wasn’t fair! Why? Why her? No other female in the family had ever suffered from this problem! They all had wonderful, full heads of hair all the way to their graves.

Lois bit her lip to stop a rare curse word from escaping her lips. She wondered if the dermatologist would be able to see her as an emergency. Usually that doctor was booked two months out. At the rate she was going, Lois might not have any hair left by then!

           Lois hunted through her wallet for the dermatologist’s card. She usually just saw him once a year to check for skin cancer. Although the dermatologist had last time recommended some strong, chemical-laden steroid creams to lather on Lois’ head, Lois had politely refused, stubbornly searching for natural remedies to deal with the psoriasis. It was her head after all—what would years of steroids eventually do if it seeped through her pores to her brain?

           As she waited for a human voice on the other end of the phone and pressed some buttons to message prompts, she glanced at her wall calendar for reference and tried to resist touching

the bald spots on her head. It really made her angry. Bald?!? That was the last thing she should have to worry about in this cursed pandemic.

           “Hello, Dr. Deerhorn’s Dermatology, may I help you?”

           “Yes! Yes, this is Lois Strand. I’m a patient of Dr. Deerhorn’s.”

           “Well hello, Ms. Strand. How are you doing to- ”

           “I need to get in to see Dr. Deerhorn as soon as possible. It’s an emergency!” Lois stressed, cutting the annoyingly cheerful secretary off. Couldn’t she see the whole world was going to hell? Lois twisted a longer strand of side hair into a stressed, tight coil.

           “Alright, alright. What seems to be the problem, Ms. Strand?” the receptionist inquired politely, although a little less friendly this time.

           “My hair! It’s all falling out. I’m going bald almost overnight!” Lois was unable to keep the rising panic and dread shrill out of her voice. The young woman on the other end of the line probably thought she’d gone pandemic paranoid cuckoo.

           Instead the incessantly cheery woman laughed. “Oh yes! You’re not the only patient to call and report this. We’ve had quite a few appointments regarding this problem.”

           Why did she sound amused? It nearly enraged Lois and she had to take a very deep breath to keep from going full-on Church Lady from SNL on this nincompoop.

           “There have? How many? Has it happened to you?” she asked instead, sounding like a wacky conspiracy theorist.

           The dreadful, hateful woman who seemed to have no problems of her own had the audacity to laugh giddily again. “Oh no! Thank goodness, I haven’t. But I hear ya’, that would be a major bummer!”         

           “It’s more than a bummer! It sounds like an epidemic! Can he get me in today?!!” Lois demanded, not feeling any less like laughing in her life. As the tight coil she’d been unconsciously pulling on snapped right off her head at the root, she stared with abject dread at the long, beautiful lost forever strand of her severed hair now wrapped uselessly around her index finger.

           “Well, let’s see. Dr. Deerhorn is mighty booked up right now. Nothing today. Is there a day you’d prefer?”

           “Have you not heard anything I’ve been saying? I need to see him as SOON AS POSSIBLE! IT’S AN EMERGENCY!” Lois shouted into the phone.

           For an unsettling moment, there was nothing but silence on the other end. Lois was fearful she’d pushed the keeper to Dr. Deerhorn’s appointments too far, and that wasn’t a smart thing to do under these circumstances. Especially when what hair she had left was entirely at their mercy. Surely the young woman knew this on some level. Lois attempted to recover.

           “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just—so distressing you see. I’ve never had this problem before, and I don’t know what to do. Please help me.” She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer asking God’s forgiveness, just in case.

           After one more never-ending moment of silence the young woman answered curtly. “Let’s see. It looks like Dr. Deerhorn has something next Monday at 1 p.m. Would that work for you?”

           “Yes, yes. If that’s the earliest he has,” Lois answered greedily, feeling nauseous. It was only Tuesday. It felt so far away and yet…

           “Alright then Ms. Strand. I’ll put you down with a consultation with Dr. Deerhorn next Monday at 1:00.”

           “Oh thank you, thank you,” Lois gushed, feeling slightly human again. “I’m sorry I lost my temper. That’s not like me. It’s just this pandemic—it’s so stressful, you know?” Lois tried a forced little chuckle, hoping to better smooth things over with her gatekeeper. Ms. Cheery Pants could always find a reason to forget to add the appointment to the good doctor’s schedule and then feign innocence, of course.

           “Of course, Ms. Strand,” the young receptionist replied, tersely, certainly not sounding cheery anymore and not won over. For good measure she added with a hint of sarcasm, “If

you’re feeling stressed, you might want to try some mediation. Stress if a major cause of hair loss. You have a good day now.”

           Before Lois had a chance to react or come back with a witty retort, she was hung up on. That little bitch! Unable to regain control of her wild, runaway temper, Lois hurled her landline receiver across the room so hard it hit the window pane and fell loudly to the floor, knocking the batteries right out of it. She hoped it would be alright. It was her one means of communication with the outside world left.

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           The days that led up to Lois’ appointment seemed to stretch on for miles. She was afraid to wash or even brush her hair, lest more come out. To try and stop herself from touching at it or scratching, she’d taken to wearing her white, spring church gloves all the time. It made turning the pages to the Bible a little tricky, but Lois considered a just punishment in a way. She’d lost her temper and called the young woman a bitch in her head. Now she had to work to read the words of the Lord.                                

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           The following Monday at Dr. Deerhorn’s office, Lois waited impatiently in the office. The receptionist and nurse had looked at her funny when she declined to remove her knit ski cap or long coat and gloves. It was sort of hot and stuffy. After what seemed like an eternity, Dr. Deerhorn entered the room.

           He also did a double take at her appearance. “Well, hello there, Lois. How are we feeling today?” Before waiting for her reply, he checked his chart where she’d filled in some questions. “Something about an itchy scalp.”

           “You could say that” said Lois, biting her tongue to keep from bursting out in inappropriate laughter.

           “Alright then. Let’s have a look, shall we?” He approached her expectantly, and she kept her mask on but slowly removed her hat.

           He jumped back so suddenly he almost fell over. Dr. Dearborn’s clipboard, papers, and pen clattered to the floor. He gasped, unable to censor himself.

           Lois asked him with a low growl, “So doctor, do you think you can help me?”

                              Lois’ head was completely bald and a bright, angry red hue. Two demon’s horns poked out through the skin of each frontal lobe. She wasn’t sure any doctor could help her now. The Lord certainly couldn’t. At that, Lois did let loose with a decidedly evil cackle.

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