While waiting in the lobby for my name to be called, a woman sat next to me at an appropriate social distance. I was waiting for chemo, and she was waiting for her labs to be drawn. She appeared to be in her late 60s or possibly 70s, sophisticated dress and very charming. She was chatting everyone up, including the tall man who chose to sit across from us. She assumed he played basketball, then they had a brief dialogue about his high school football career. He seemed relieved when his name was called, and she wondered how he got in before me. đ¤ˇââď¸ I wondered, too.
Since I was the closest, we had the longest of conversations. I now know her female related medical history, why she is here, who she is seeing, and how long she has been in chemo. We share a disdain for going downtown for scans or treatment, and a common interest in the chairs on which we sat. She also inquired as to how long it took for my hair to grow back. She was wearing a wig, which seemed to fit her personality. It didn’t look like one, but I know how to spot them.
Her cancer is different than mine, but I get it. She is relatively new into the process, so I get it. Cancer is hard no matter how it is diagnosed or what type you have. We can’t bring anyone with us to the center because of the pandemic, so it can get a little lonely at times. Again, I get it. For a social butterfly, which she obviously is, I imagine it gets a lot lonely up here. I am glad I could help her pass a few minutes of her wait time. And, it was entertaining for me as well.
My name was called first. We exchanged pleasantries, and off I went.
I lost count on my treatment number. I think it’s somewhere around the 60 mark. Today’s nurse is very efficient. He just informed me today is number 58, and we had a discussion about whether that includes the original treatment (it doesn’t). He stays active. I should be in and out before lunchtime. Tim drove me down here, as he often does, but he can’t come in the building. We communicate via text messaging while he works from our local cafĂŠ. I’m sure you know which one that is. đ
Sometimes I nearly forget I have cancer. We have such a good life, and I feel healthy most of the time. I am still able to do the things I love, and spend time with the people I hold dear. (It’s hard to get up and down, and my body has more aches and pains, but that could also be attributed to old age đ).
When I sit in the lobby, I am reminded. When I get hooked up, another reminder. When someone sits next to me and talks about losing her hair, again I remember. I will always be reminded, but those are momentary when I compare it to eternity. I am a survivor, and I am a thriver. I do not lose heart.
“Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”
2 Corinthians 4:16-18
Ă la prochaine…until next time.