Are you OK?

I was born in Manly Hospital Sydney and spend the first 6 years of my life growing up in the 'upper north shore' suburb of Belrose. When I was about 4 my mum had a malignant melanoma removed from her wrist. It's the fancy work for skin cancer. When I was about 5, mum found a suspect mole on my head behind my left ear. Well, it was diagnosed as the same thing so off to hospital I go, whip it and the surrounding tissue off, whip a bit of skin off my stomach as a skin graft, whip out a few lymph nodes in my neck and off you go. When you are 5 and have a head diameter of 20 cm, a scar the size of a fist was pretty obvious. Luckily for me, it was where I could hide it with a decent mullet. One of my clearest and earliest memories is of that hospital trip. I was terrified and tortured. I still vividly recall being left in a cot type thing in a room, alone for such a long time dressed only in those stupid bum open shirts. I was busting for the toilet. ABSOLUTELY busting. I eventually got the attention of a nurse by yelling at the closed door. "are you OK?" said the nurse after poking his head through the door. "I need to pee!!" He reached under the cot and handed me a crooked plastic bottle with a flat bottom. What do I do with that? I was 5! "use it" he said. I am a boy so target peeing was my special superskill. Well mostly as it turned out. I never thought about being a nurse after that. Well the operation was done and I had a raw stomach from where they took skin and an even rawer head where they sowed it on. So what was I to do but go to school. Of course!! Bradley Merrick was a school bully type kid and with his mate Gordon Shaw, decided the kid with the white turban holding a school bag protectively in front of his stomach was well, a perfect target for taunting. They mustn't have been much good at it though as I don't have any lasting memories. I do however remember the Principal Mrs Bird instructing Bradley and Gordon to act as my body guards in case any bullies try to rough me up whilst I was such a delicate state. They relished the role. I literally walked to school with 2 bouncers parting the madding crowds for my safe passage. Why do I remember their names so clearly too? that was 40 years ago.
Well the scars healed and I moved to Goulburn, a smallish country town in the Southern Tablelands of New South Wales.
I never really thought of the scar because I could never see it without the use of 2 mirrors, even then it was hard to gauge how it really looked to others.
When I was about 12 or 13 and sitting in the hairdressers chair having my locks expertly caressed and lopped (I used to love getting hair cuts) the cute young girl entrusted with my lady killer style was cutting in the area of the scar and noticed something.
"Hey, you've got hair on your scar"
That would be a miracle. Everyone knows you can;t spontaneously grow hair back like that. But I was immediately pleased at the idea of losing the scar.
"It's black"
"and curly"
Can you imagine how a teenage boy, on the cusp of manhood, coming to grips with the hormonal and physical changes ravaging his body, in the hands of a gorgeous and talented hair caresser felt, when he realised that the hair was in fact coming from the grafted skin. I think we both realised at the same time.
"Where did you say they took the skin from?" An awkward silenced consumed me for some time there after.
When I was about 15 or 16 in year 10 at Mulwaree High School, a boy of Lebanese heritage called Matthew Bsat started at the school. Let's just say Matt was not one of the popular kids and I have no idea why. I'm not saying I was but I was higher on the social ladder than him, we both knew that. He was a body builder though, a real muscular guy, even at that age. One day he asked me what the scar was.
What I am about to admit to is a great source of shame for me and I fear you will judge me but I continue on, this is therapy after all.
"It's where they took out a chunk of my brain"
"WOW!!"
"Yea, I had a bad disease and they had to open me up"
"WOWEE!!"
"They said it was an aggressive disease and would affect my behaviour if not removed"
"are you OK but?"
"I'm not sure they got it all, I sometimes have black outs and violent fits and stuff but don't remember anything"
"Oh my god, that must be really tough"
"it is, but its a secret so don't tell anyone, I only trust you with this information Matt"
I gave it a few days to sink in, Matt giving me a knowing nod every time we passed in the corridors. Then upon betting all my mates I could attack Matt without fear of retribution, I did so. Hard in the arm first then another fist to the chest. Hard enough to hurt my own arm doing the punching. Just as he recoiled and his fight or flight mechanism took over (it was a fight, no flight whatsoever by the way) I held my head and 'fitted' . I had to use all my powers of control not to laugh as he stood in shock watching me. When I had finished my 'fit', and after being ruthlessly attacked all Matt could say was "Are you OK?"