He walked into the cancer center and I could smell the smoke on his clothes. His fingers were stained from years of smoking. His voice was raspy and he looked like he’d seen a lot of bad road in his life. But he was polite. He had manners. And I could tell, he liked engaging in conversation; probably not something he did very often.
He told me about his diagnosis of lung cancer and how his family tree was full of cancer victims. Not many of his relatives had been blessed with the word “survivor,” instead, they had become statistics for cancer researchers to use as they wrote up their treatment results. He was not optimistic about his chances either.
I told him, he would be the one to snap the string of cancer deaths on that family tree. He would be different and I could tell he liked that because he smiled. I don’t think he did that very often either.
We talked about how coming to this cancer clinic was a smart choice. Many different doctors would look at his case and he’d have a solid course of treatment by the end of the day.
His “hope meter” would be high knowing he had such good medical minds working to make him better or at least make him feel better.
He left with medication to soothe his insides and steady his dizziness. He was on his way to the “better” part.
When he got home, I hope there was someone there to ask him how his day went…someone to listen…someone to care.
January 17, 2014 @ 4:59 pm
That you took the time to talk with him could have been the only voice he has heard for a long time. There are many all around us that we assume have family and friends to talk with and to care about them but don’t. My friend Alice comes to mind.
We visited with her today. She is in bed most all of the time; has a social worker/nurse come each day to help her with daily living; is gradually wasting away because it is too painful to eat. Her spirits were high today. Hopefully she’ll be moved to hospice next week ( the obvious is that someone must die in order for her to have a bed there). We spoke about her final wishes since she has no Will. I assured her that the Sisters would take care of her and they have a plan for her when she dies unless she specifies differently. This seemed to take this burden off of her mind. We asked for and received her permission to come visit her when she is admitted there and we told her that we’ll come to her service when she dies. This made her happy that we would do this for her.
I tell you this not for pats on our backs but to illustrate that there are people around us who really have no one and we can sometimes bring a little humanity into their lives.
January 17, 2014 @ 10:20 am
Long ago, Bill Moyers had a PBS documentary series on death and dying. I will always remember his statement that tobacco is more addictive than heroin. After learning that, I understand why people find it so hard to give it up.
January 16, 2014 @ 8:58 pm
I can’t even begin to imagine going through this without some kind of support. I am glad you touched him today Laurie…