Today, Friday, was two more doctor appointments: one with the surgeon, the other with the radiology department at Huntington Hospital. Dr. Hills, the surgeon, checked my wounds and sent me off to radiology with a warm hug. I love herJ (that’s why I took a picture of her picture—I chickened out of asking her to pose for one because I have never seen anyone else snapping pictures in the office). At my radiology consultation, I was hoping to schedule dates for radiation to begin, but it didn't happen. We are delayed once again, waiting for the oncologist and his consultants to make some final decisions.The hardest part of today was slightly unexpected. I am used to hearing the “side effect” discussion at each of the appointments I attend, so I wasn’t surprised to sit there in my beautiful hospital gown and hear about fatigue, skin problems, heart/lung involvement…etc. Surprisingly, I was most affected by the waiting room. Prior to entering radiology, I envisioned sitting in a waiting room full of other women, each with a story similar to mine. I desperately hoped to somehow glance across the room and make eye contact with another breast cancer patient—someone close to my age—someone with children at home—someone scared and fighting the same battle as me. Maybe we wouldn’t talk, but there would be a unique “understanding” when we looked into each other’s eyes, an understanding that only two people experiencing the same set of circumstances can feel. But as I entered the radiology department doors, the waiting room was empty. When I left an hour and 30 minutes later, it was still empty. I have never felt so alone. Just one woman might have made the difference today, but it was not to be—not today.
"We have no right to ask when sorrow comes, "Why did this happen to me?" unless we ask the same question for every moment of happiness that comes our way."
Author unknown
No comments:
Post a Comment