The Waiting Room

I was recently diagnosed with cancer. It was found during a surgery for something else. I quickly had a second surgery to remove the cancer and it turned out it was more widespread and could not be removed. So in 3 weeks I had 2 surgeries where nothing could be done, all I got was a cancer diagnosis. This was a lot to process in a short amount of time. I had my first appointment with my oncologist shortly after these surgeries to find out what kind of cancer it was, what the prognosis was, and how best to treat it.

My partner and I walked into the large waiting room not really knowing what to expect. I checked in and we found seats far from other people, no covid for me, and sat down. As we sat there I looked around the waiting room at the many other people sitting there. What I saw terrified me, I could feel the fear and despair grab me and take away my air. People sat in pairs, a caregiver and a patient.

The patients for the most part had a similar look, I immediately named them bald ghost people. They looked pale and worn down, I felt like they were just staring into the abyss. I imagined they were all just staring at death and waiting for it to come. The caretakers looked worn down too, without hope.

That time in the oncologist waiting room was so hard for me. I felt a panic deep in my body. I finally think it sunk in, I have cancer, I could die, this is real. I was terrified.

I am four chemo treatments into my journey. Sitting in the waiting room for my fourth treatment was completely different than that first day. I was now a bald ghost staring into space. My partner and caregiver looked worn down. But I realized something. That bald ghost look was true, I had lost my hair and low red blood cells give you a ghost look. But that stare was not what I had thought it was. It was introspection. It was a deep reflection on the lessons that cancer was teaching me.

I have learned that I have the most amazing support system, especially my partner. I know that I have cancer but I have an amazing medical team working to get rid of it. I understand we were already seeing indications that chemo was working. I look out the window at the big blue Colorado sky and am joyful that I was seeing it. I have so many friends and family checking in and helping out. I am planning the things I want to do when I go into remission. I am becoming a more patient person. I have so much going on in my brain, but it was not the despair I originally assigned to those bald ghost people.

I am not in the head of the caretakers but I have to think they too actually felt more hope than despair, more love than fear, and were also learning lessons.

I like going to chemo and sitting in the waiting room, a bald ghost with hope.