I am not sure that anyone ever gets used to walking into an oncology waiting room.
You look around at the different faces, and it’s grievous. At least to me it is, my heart carries the memory of their faces.
You can pick out the ones who made it to the other side; they’ve walked through chemo, they’re sporting their new short hair styles and desperately holding on to the hope that the worst is behind them as they try to move on with their life.
There’s the newbies; they still have their hair, they look normal except if you look close enough you can see the “deer in the headlights” look radiating fear as they try to grasp their new scary reality.
Then there’s the ones in the middle of treatment; they’re usually bald which is a tell-tale sign of chemo and cancer. Some proudly bare their baldness, some wear a hat or a scarf to cover while some hide under a wig trying to look normal. They’re all trying to just get through. Some will. Some won’t.
There is a mixture of despair and hope, you can feel it, you can almost taste it.
It is a sad place to be.
The nurses and medical staff contribute to the feel of the place. We’ve been privileged to receive their kind service. How they keep a smile on their face as they go about their work day in and day out is beyond me. I wonder if they grow calloused or if they feel the woes of each patient? Do they break under the burdens, or are they able to find release?
Thursday the 7th was my last chemo; # 6 of 6 chemotherapy infusions.
It is a milestone for sure. One I would rather not have ever celebrated. One that I have barely been able to acknowledge because my heart has been too busy, too heavy with processing and grieving the next steps ahead of me.
But the chemo part is done. We made it. I survived.
I survived.
James would say, “High five! Success!”
Our day was brightened several times by some surprise visitors! 🙂 My heart was gladdened at the sight of their sweet and familiar faces.