February 8, 2006
When one lives an ordinary life filled with ordinary things and events, even as years pass, and age groupings change, the landscape within remains constant. I don’t think the term “cancer” held any sort of meaning to me since my parents and sibings were never afflicted with the disease. This fall a dear friend died of leukemia, and I spent some time visiting with his widow thinking about what it might be like to have the best loved life’s partner die. It never occurred to me that within days I would be someone who would be the recipient of the phrase, “She has cancer”, with my husband in the position of health and continuity. It feels as though I have shifted over one pace into a universe which has existed all along – one which is filled with a huge population of people of all ages.
At the first session of chemotherapy, I was led into the “chemo” room. There it was, larger than our home’s living room and kitchen. . . filled with light blue recliners lining the outside walls. Next to those a small table, and on the other side, the IV stand. There were other chairs down the center of the room for those who might be waiting, and magazines and papers were all about. A refrigerator filled with snacks and drinks for the people who spend time in the room is at one end, and there are the curtains on tracks around a number of the blue recliners in case privacy is required.
The people in the room were in various stages of receiving the chemotherapy. Many of them came in smiling, joking perhaps, and as they settled in, newspaper in hand, the top buttons of their shirts or blouses were opened, and the IV needle was inserted into a “port” which is a small opening implanted into the upper chest of a person which in turn permits repeated entry into the body without exhausting the blood veins.
I was struck by the everyday-ness of it all. How many of us there are! As I mentioned before, the Vidaza is injected right under the skin, so that is a different experience.
Now the once familiar physical self seems far distant as each day a new nuance emerges. “Oh, so this is what I can do now”. Different thoughts entirely occupy the mental self; for the first time, this life appears to have a conclusion, an apparent earthly ending not unlike picking up a book and noting that the bookmark is near the last chapter. It takes getting used to. Naturally, one hopes each day for a very long epilogue, or perhaps even another book in the series.