Topic: October 2005
Today I go to doc for lab and visit. Doc wants to check out my blood 10 days after the "new" chemo. Which, by the way is Taxol, not Taxofere as I had thought. Although I think they may be similar. Taxol info
I go, get my labs, wait an hour or so, then visit the doc. As I sit there I people watch and eavesdrop on conversations. I can always tell who the patient is because they tag us when we arrive/check-in. We get a wristband with our account number, name, and date of birth. We also get a set of labels to give to the nurse for I suppose labeling our lab viles, folders, whatever.
The newer patients usually come with a group; and the ones that have been there a long time, are usually alone or maybe with 1 other person.
There's a lot of patients with masks on. I asked a nurse why and she said because the patients that get bone marrow transplants must wear them for 180 days as their blood count is building up. Those people usually sit by themselves somewhere. I think 180 days! That's a long time, their treatment must last years. I count myself lucky to only hve 6-8 months of my life interrupted. Then I see the kids, some very young, some teenagers, some in their 20's. What a terrible thing to go through so young. I couldn't imagine trying to date, go to school, and hang out with my friends and have to go through cancer on top of all the other adolescent "traumas". I count myself lucky to have experienced a normal childhood, teenage years, and life. I see the older couples, who must have thought they'd spend their retirement years traveling, gardening, playing golf, who are now accompanying each other to their appointments. They don't talk as much as the kids and parents, they just sit together, look out for each other and help each other get up, sit down, and make sure they are in the right place. There is an unspoken communication going on. I count myself lucky to realize that now is the time to enjoy life, and not to wait for retirement to do the things I want.
So, today, I'll go, hurry up to get to my appt on time, and then wait, watch and eavesdrop. Who will I see today, a 20-something man with his mom and brother, nervously bouncing his leg as he waits for his name to be called; a young child in a wheelchair looking like their whole life as been in a hospital and that is normal; an frail older man in his pj's with his wife, helping him and taking him where he needs to go... .
I wonder what they will see... a 40-something woman, bald, pensive, smiling, counting her blessings and feeling very fortunate to have so much?