I’m fundraising for Cancer Council Victoria to help stop cancer.
Since COVID, I’ve been on a bit of journey; if I wanted to play guitar like Eric Clapton, I figured I needed to look the part (Journeyman era for reference - quite apt). This typically clean shaven guy committed to maintaining what he thought was a decent semblance of a beard.
As time marched forward, I grew quite found of my facial follicles, even convinced that it would give me a credible jawline. Alas an impulsive, fateful trip to the barber changed all that. In preparation for my most recent clinical placement, I thought I’d clean up the unwieldy mop atop my cranium. As it was Easter break, options were short. I miraculously did manage to find one place.
They say never trust a shinny chef. In this case, never trust a bald barber. Whether through miscommunication or some other means, my luscious locks were cut to smithereens. My silhouette had be drastically altered beyond redemption. Don’t get me wrong, it was definitely a feasible look, just not my look. As I managed to pull myself together long enough to face the mirror, I knew there was only one logical solution: it all must go!
I feel the time is right. Starting placement at Peter MacCallum Cancer Centre, the hairdressing mishap. Interacting with individuals who live with the affliction of metastatic disease as given me time to reflect upon the plight of cancer in the community, and what it means to form part of the healthcare team tasked with assisting them through their journey (there’s that word again, I told you this was apt).
My mother has been clamouring to “take that crap off my face” for years now, so let’s give her that gift for her birthday - May 22 is the date it will all come off! I had a good run with it, I know I can definitely pull it off. If a near 4 year stint with facial hair is good enough for Paul McCartney, it is good enough for me. Return of the prim and proper clean cut!
Good job Tony!