Tuesday is garbage day in Chinatown. The bright green trucks are cheerful on a grey day like today and the garbage men who work this route are friendly.
Today I was in and out of my doctor’s appointment quickly (all continues to be well) and am now sitting waiting for my quick treatment. Last week I spoke with someone who was in for many days in a row of intensive chemotherapy – six hours a day. She looked exhausted and anxious and my heart went out to her. I was reminded yet again of how healthy I really am and of the profound stories contained in these walls.
As I flounce in and out of the unit, chatting gaily with the nurses and the other staff, I sometimes feel like an impostor. I might well be going to the hairdresser as to the chemo unit. Flouncing in this place is not always welcome by those who have no flounce in them at all. The large lunches I bring to get me through my occasional long days are not always welcomed by those who feel nauseous. My quick in and out treatment is not shared by most of the people there who might be trapped for hours and hours.
I do try and act a bit more sober sometimes – I don’t really have to flounce, but I don’t want to be funereal either – that would not be helpful. I will make a study of appropriate chemo unit behaviour and get back to you. Maybe I should write a guide book for travels in the chemo unit.
On another note, I stopped in to see Marianne the hot dog lady in front of my hospital. She was serving a gentleman who participates in a choir that uses pictures to represent the lyrics for those that cannot read. How cool is that?