Cancer is a curse word. I'm so tired of it. I'm so tired of watching people be sick and I'm tired of watching people die.
The woman I work for has cancer and we went through radiation last year and now we're going through chemotherapy treatments. I'm playing fast and loose with the term "we" because I accompany her to the 8 hour treatments, but she really does it all. She sits for the IV and blood tests, she asks all day if she can go home, she is the one who gets exhausted, she's the one who lost her hair. I just sit there and keep her company.
A chemo day...
Go into the office, sign in and wait. When your name is called you have your finger poked for a blood test. (If you're my client you point at me and say "you want her." to try and get out of it.) If the test is good you go to a room in the back which has recliners lining the walls with IV posts in between. Some of the chairs are occupied, a few not, people reading or sleeping. People smile in recognition, greet you if you've shared a rotation. Some look close to death and others, you wouldn't even know are sick. Conversation turns to types, stages, meds, doctors, prognosis', hair loss, wigs vs. scarves and then the tech comes in. Searches for a good vein, pokes, flash and tapes the IV to the arm. Over and over as people come in you watch this one woman take care of everyone. Knowing names, diseases and little details that make her perfect for the job. You watch her poke veins, and ports and laugh and try to make people as comfortable as possible. I feel guilty. I'm well, here because the woman who employs me is sick. Wishing over and over I could ease this pain and fear, and praying in the same breath I don't ever have to do it myself. Feeling guilty for that too.
I bring doughnuts. A couple dozen every time, because the pink bakery box makes everyone smile. A little sweetness during a bitter time.
As we sit I can't read, though I try. All I can do is watch the people go in and out, knit, sleep, do word puzzles.
Someone always comes in, a former patient who'd gone through this before, had fought valiantly comes to visit the team who helped them. It's always a different person. Someone who'd been scheduled to die and yet through drugs and prayer has lived on. Someone who comes in just to say it's not impossible.
The constant, a married couple who has cancer and receives chemotherapy at the same time. They sit side by side, hooked to their IV's, she reads, he sleeps.
Another woman a bit younger than 50, needs to decide whether to have a double mastectomy or not. She's quiet, withdrawn, her mother or sister by her side, in my mind I'm thinking, "How is this a question? Your breasts for your life." But, then I'm not sick. I don't know how I'd really feel in that position. Something I realize is that she is BEAUTIFUL, she's just striking and had my attention when she walked in because it's not often you see such classic beauty. I wonder if she thinks she won't be beautiful anymore if her breasts are removed.
Sometimes I think I know how I would answer if it were me, however, I'm not arrogant enough to say it for sure. I wonder if I'd feel the same if it WERE me.
J, the funny man who you know was once vibrant and witty, sitting in a chair hanging on with all he has. Every week you see him he is weaker and weaker. He smiles that smile that tells of a million jokes he's told before. He's slowly disappearing and one day, he won't greet us. It's in their eyes when they look at him. He's looking at the end.
The first chemo treatment we went to was awful. I thought I could handle it. However, when I went to bed that night I dreamt horrible dreams. The one I remember is I was in the recliner connected to an IV. But, I was old, and had lost my hair, and I was grey and pale. My family didn't know where I was, and when they finally came in, didn't know I was me.
It doesn't matter that there are 20 chairs and 20 people in the room, they're all fighting their own tailor made battle of cancer and NO ONE can come with them. We can sit by the wayside, but the internal battle is fought alone.
I'm tired of cancer. Cancer took my aunt recently. She was vibrant and funny, completely ostentatious and we loved her for it.
Tomorrow is another chemo day so I was hoping this would help for tomorrow. ~Jen
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