In the waiting room

I am twenty-nine treatments into radiation with just four left to go. Five days a week for the past six weeks I have driven to the Swedish Edmonds Radiation Oncology center, checked in with my scan card, changed into a gown and sat in a waiting room. The treatment itself only takes 5 minutes its the positioning me in the machine that takes the most time. I have four very tiny tattoos that help the techs make sure I am level and lined up. I lay on a cold table with my arms over my head and my top half fully exposed. At first it felt strange and a little mortifying, but now I am use to it. In fact at this point my breasts seem as public as my arms. My appointment is at the same time everyday. Most days I am in and out within 15 minutes but some days I have to wait to see the doctor. Other days someone before me took longer or the machines needed to be rebooted and the waiting room fills up. Sometimes the waiting room is quiet while other days there is small talk. Occasionally you get to hear someone ringing a bell symbolizing the end of their radiation journey, those are always my favorite days. 

This whole process has seemed so surreal. Much easier physically than chemo but for some strange reason much more emotional. I found myself at so many points laying on that table thinking “how is this my life?”. One day during treatment the John Mayor song Heart of Life was playing in the background. Tears welled up in my eyes and I choked back full sobs as the words danced thru the room:

You know it’s nothin’ new

Bad news never had good timing

then a circle of your friends 

will defend the silver lining

pain throws your heart to the ground

love turns the whole thing around

No, it won’t all go the way it should 

But I know the heart of life is good

I can never fully express the gratitude I have felt throughout this process. But I am also grieving. A loss of who I was before I faced all this. Before the inside of treatment facilities were as familiar to me as my own home. Knowing that while this leg of active treatment is coming to a close, cancer never really comes to a close. Survivorship is it’s own journey as well, but that’s a story for another day. I am not even quite sure how to put into words the sadness I feel at times. Yet, this journey has brought me so many unexpected joys and lessons. 

For the last four weeks I shared the waiting room with an older gentleman. His appointment was the one right after mine and he was always early. At first neither of us spoke. But as the days passed slowly stories began to leaked out, until before I knew it we were sharing the most intimate details of our cancer treatments laughing at our vulnerability in hospital gowns, faces hidden behind masks.  It became a mini support group in the radiation waiting room. Yesterday was his final treatment. Covid be damned right there in that waiting room he gave me the biggest hug and shared kind words about how much visiting with me had brought such a bright spot into these dark days for him. By this point tears were streaming down my face as I thanked him and handed him a card I had written the day before expressing very similar feelings. Such an unlikely friendship and such a perfect slice of life amidst a stormy season. Where else in life can you bond with stranger so deeply in a waiting room? It’s these experiences and moments that I will hold dear to my heart as I move forward and out of this phase of treatment.