The Grip of Cancerland
Today I am grateful for a good appointment with my oncologist yesterday and I am grateful for my family . . . my family of origin, the family I married into, and the family Darcy and I have together.That family will be growing this weekend with the wedding of my stepson. Exciting times!
But first, back to that oncology appointment. I always get a little edgy before I go in. I am at 6-month check-ups now and will have just one more of those. If things look good, I will start going in once a year. I get some fear and anxiety when I get closer to the cancer center, and when I walk in the doors. Back in the grips of cancerland for a short time. I had my blood draw and then some time to wait before going in to see my doctor. I was able to do some journaling, start composing this post, and do some reading.
I was also able to hear some of the conversations going on around me. I wasn't trying to listen. It couldn't really be avoided. I heard snippets of two conversations where two different men had been scheduled for some surgery or another and in that process their cancers were discovered. You never know. Another man walked in, jovial and loud. He went in to talk to the scheduler and said something like this: "I woke up on the green side of the grass today, so it's a good day." As he walked out, he addressed a few of the people in the waiting room as he passed them, some fairly somber and understandably so. This time his words were along the line of "Come on gang! It's not that serious. You're alive. Today is a good day." I liked his spirit and spunk, but I wasn't in the same shoes as some of the people there. His words probably made some smile, some cringe, and some want to cry.I smiled.
There are always palpable emotions that I sense when I walk in to this facility. Some of them are my own; the memories of those first overwhelming appointments, of chemo days, of looking and feeling like a cancer patient, the fear that hung around. Some of the emotions are a conglomeration of everyone there; some early in their cancer journey, some who got a good report today, others who didn't, some who may not be alive by the time I come in next. Patients, loved ones, medical personnel . . . some cheerful and resilient, others bearing the weight cancer imposes.
For me, it could be worse. Much worse. But I'm entitled to a little dose of mixed emotions. I could be one of those people walking out in the world who has never had to face a cancer diagnosis, surgeries to remove body parts, chemotherapy. But the brief anger and lingering anxiety subside.
I walk out the doors. The grip loosens. Gratitude helps loosen it.
But first, back to that oncology appointment. I always get a little edgy before I go in. I am at 6-month check-ups now and will have just one more of those. If things look good, I will start going in once a year. I get some fear and anxiety when I get closer to the cancer center, and when I walk in the doors. Back in the grips of cancerland for a short time. I had my blood draw and then some time to wait before going in to see my doctor. I was able to do some journaling, start composing this post, and do some reading.
I was also able to hear some of the conversations going on around me. I wasn't trying to listen. It couldn't really be avoided. I heard snippets of two conversations where two different men had been scheduled for some surgery or another and in that process their cancers were discovered. You never know. Another man walked in, jovial and loud. He went in to talk to the scheduler and said something like this: "I woke up on the green side of the grass today, so it's a good day." As he walked out, he addressed a few of the people in the waiting room as he passed them, some fairly somber and understandably so. This time his words were along the line of "Come on gang! It's not that serious. You're alive. Today is a good day." I liked his spirit and spunk, but I wasn't in the same shoes as some of the people there. His words probably made some smile, some cringe, and some want to cry.I smiled.
There are always palpable emotions that I sense when I walk in to this facility. Some of them are my own; the memories of those first overwhelming appointments, of chemo days, of looking and feeling like a cancer patient, the fear that hung around. Some of the emotions are a conglomeration of everyone there; some early in their cancer journey, some who got a good report today, others who didn't, some who may not be alive by the time I come in next. Patients, loved ones, medical personnel . . . some cheerful and resilient, others bearing the weight cancer imposes.
For me, it could be worse. Much worse. But I'm entitled to a little dose of mixed emotions. I could be one of those people walking out in the world who has never had to face a cancer diagnosis, surgeries to remove body parts, chemotherapy. But the brief anger and lingering anxiety subside.
I walk out the doors. The grip loosens. Gratitude helps loosen it.
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