Radiation has started, and I have quickly learned there is a kind of waiting room Simpatico that goes on with the "daily's".
Not surprising, since you see these same people everyday for weeks, sitting in a
tiny hospital waiting room wearing a god-awful hospital gown, feeling particularly vulnerable around strangers. "Waiting for Godot" comes to mind.
There is only one "zapping" machine, but because my appointment is late in the day, planned scheduling falls by the wayside as radiation traffic backs up and those of us with appointments around the same time sit and wait.
There's the man before me, prostate cancer, mid sixties, and loves watching Bonanza with the volume turned way up. Uuuugggghhh. Really nice man, but having the television blaring cheesie dialogue from the 60's western TV series makes reading quite
difficult. The woman after me is very pleasant and likes to read too, so as soon as Bonanza Man goes into the "zapping" room, we mute the TV and go about our reading...at least we intend to. We are both rather talkative, and although we have books and reading glasses in hand, we quickly start talking about life. This woman has been a schoolteacher of 6th-8th graders for some 40 years. She is in her 60s but does appear younger and physically fit. Breast cancer, lumpectomy on one side. This appears to be "cancer speak"...a little like being an inmate in a jail, "What are you in for?" Cancer is kind of a sentencing, I guess. Even on blogs and chat rooms online for cancer patients, people identify themselves by type of cancer, stage, severity, treatment, and
survival.
The woman scheduled after the teacher shows up. This woman....breast cancer again, lumpectomy. She has the typical "old lady" look that makes determining age difficult. You know ...short gray hair, glasses, short in stature, kind of hunched over, just rather bland looking. But then the lady opens her mouth, lights up the room and ignites my sense of humor as well. She teases the teacher, "We really need to stop meeting like this daily" and then dashes into the dressing room, which opens right off the waiting room...very close proximity. Suddenly the changing room door swings open again. The older woman quickly comes out giggling like a schoolgirl announcing, "Oops, almost stripped down without a gown to wear!" The schoolteacher laughs, "Won't be the first time and won't be the last!" I sit in wonderment at this exchange. The woman dashes to the gown closet only 5 feet way, a passage that takes her from one end of the room, past the TV, to the other end of the room...really, really small room. Once changed, she seems to nestle comfortably into the waiting room chair between me and the teacher, eyeing both of us for potential coversation fodder as she does not have any reading material in hand and the TV is still muted. She is clearly old enough to realize how silly it is to look interested in a muted cowboy show.
At this point, I am intrigued by these women whose names I don't even know. I am inquisitive as to what to expect from treatment as they have both been coming for 3 weeks already. But having done my own research, I think I am more interested in them personally and how they are coping. Everyone has a story. Unfortunately, the waiting room doesn't offer time for learning everything, and you never know what may happen the next day. I did find out the teacher is upset about her principal referring to her and her peers who are older as the "oldsters". The day before, when she had said she was a teacher, I had mentioned just going to my daughter's school for orientation and that I didn't think teachers got the appreciation or the pay they deserved. She was thankful to hear that. I thought "collective bargaining rights" and Scott Walker might come up, but the nurse came in, "Next!"
So, I watch and wonder as these people come and go...So many people with cancer. We all have stories. I too divulge a little of my story, double mastectomy, 13 cm tumor that could not be detected manually. They start asking me questions, perhaps wanting to know what might be in store for them. I share with my lumpectomy waiting room buddies that a double mastectomy, with expanders put in place, is a little like being sentenced to wearing a rather painful, heavy, metal bra for 6 months. Their mouths drop. Perhaps I am too descriptive! Funny though. And kind of sad, but we all sit here alive today.
So, with a knowing glance of having faced the "C" word, one by one, we follow that nurse who just yelled,
"Next!"
Not surprising, since you see these same people everyday for weeks, sitting in a
tiny hospital waiting room wearing a god-awful hospital gown, feeling particularly vulnerable around strangers. "Waiting for Godot" comes to mind.
There is only one "zapping" machine, but because my appointment is late in the day, planned scheduling falls by the wayside as radiation traffic backs up and those of us with appointments around the same time sit and wait.
There's the man before me, prostate cancer, mid sixties, and loves watching Bonanza with the volume turned way up. Uuuugggghhh. Really nice man, but having the television blaring cheesie dialogue from the 60's western TV series makes reading quite
difficult. The woman after me is very pleasant and likes to read too, so as soon as Bonanza Man goes into the "zapping" room, we mute the TV and go about our reading...at least we intend to. We are both rather talkative, and although we have books and reading glasses in hand, we quickly start talking about life. This woman has been a schoolteacher of 6th-8th graders for some 40 years. She is in her 60s but does appear younger and physically fit. Breast cancer, lumpectomy on one side. This appears to be "cancer speak"...a little like being an inmate in a jail, "What are you in for?" Cancer is kind of a sentencing, I guess. Even on blogs and chat rooms online for cancer patients, people identify themselves by type of cancer, stage, severity, treatment, and
survival.
The woman scheduled after the teacher shows up. This woman....breast cancer again, lumpectomy. She has the typical "old lady" look that makes determining age difficult. You know ...short gray hair, glasses, short in stature, kind of hunched over, just rather bland looking. But then the lady opens her mouth, lights up the room and ignites my sense of humor as well. She teases the teacher, "We really need to stop meeting like this daily" and then dashes into the dressing room, which opens right off the waiting room...very close proximity. Suddenly the changing room door swings open again. The older woman quickly comes out giggling like a schoolgirl announcing, "Oops, almost stripped down without a gown to wear!" The schoolteacher laughs, "Won't be the first time and won't be the last!" I sit in wonderment at this exchange. The woman dashes to the gown closet only 5 feet way, a passage that takes her from one end of the room, past the TV, to the other end of the room...really, really small room. Once changed, she seems to nestle comfortably into the waiting room chair between me and the teacher, eyeing both of us for potential coversation fodder as she does not have any reading material in hand and the TV is still muted. She is clearly old enough to realize how silly it is to look interested in a muted cowboy show.
At this point, I am intrigued by these women whose names I don't even know. I am inquisitive as to what to expect from treatment as they have both been coming for 3 weeks already. But having done my own research, I think I am more interested in them personally and how they are coping. Everyone has a story. Unfortunately, the waiting room doesn't offer time for learning everything, and you never know what may happen the next day. I did find out the teacher is upset about her principal referring to her and her peers who are older as the "oldsters". The day before, when she had said she was a teacher, I had mentioned just going to my daughter's school for orientation and that I didn't think teachers got the appreciation or the pay they deserved. She was thankful to hear that. I thought "collective bargaining rights" and Scott Walker might come up, but the nurse came in, "Next!"
So, I watch and wonder as these people come and go...So many people with cancer. We all have stories. I too divulge a little of my story, double mastectomy, 13 cm tumor that could not be detected manually. They start asking me questions, perhaps wanting to know what might be in store for them. I share with my lumpectomy waiting room buddies that a double mastectomy, with expanders put in place, is a little like being sentenced to wearing a rather painful, heavy, metal bra for 6 months. Their mouths drop. Perhaps I am too descriptive! Funny though. And kind of sad, but we all sit here alive today.
So, with a knowing glance of having faced the "C" word, one by one, we follow that nurse who just yelled,
"Next!"
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