The First Treatment

“When someone has cancer, the whole family and everyone who loves them does too.”

~ Terri Clark

Mom had her first chemotherapy treatment last week. Afterwards, people wondered how it went. Did it go well, they asked?

All I could think was, how would one know that? And can a situation where there is poison dripping into your body for 3 hours really be described as going well?

It was a bit strange being in that room, as someone had warned me it may be. It struck me that cancer really does affect all walks of life: Men and Women; young and old; even the Conservative Mennonite couple in the corner. Most people had at least one friend or family member with them. Some were playing cards, others were reading or watching the personal TV available at each chair. The volunteers were wonderfully and annoyingly upbeat; welcome and welcoming to first-timers. One of the nurses said to me, as we were gathering our things to leave, that if we wanted perhaps next time someone could drop Mom off and pick her up again after. That there really wasn't much for us to do during the treatment. I was slightly offended by this. Why should anyone have to wait out their treatment time on their own? Sometimes it is reassuring to have someone just sit with you. To know you are not going through it alone.

Yet, I was most intrigued by a man who sat by himself. With a small grin ever-present on his face.

He had no book to read; no friend to chat to. The personal TV above his chair remained silent, pushed back facing the wall. He simply sat there, tubes attached to his arm, taking in the room around him. With a small, contented grin.

I found my attention returning to his face time and time again. I wondered, what was it about that place that inspired that contented grin. What was it about his situation that allowed that contented grin. And what was it about that grin that offered me a small morsel of peace, of hope, of contentedness. There, in that room full of poison. Full of cancer.

Every once in awhile it will hit me anew: my Mom has cancer.

And it takes my breath away.

I admire her strength in facing this, her hope and optimism in this fight.

For, as younger Brother highlighted, “I don't know what we can do... she just has to go through it”.

As do we all, really. One treatment at a time; one day at a time.