Because I'm Worth It

It continues to floor me, the difference between childhood and adult oncology treatment.  Not the actual treatment, but the way doctors, nurses, and office staff treat you when you're no longer a cute, bald nine year old for whom they feel sorry.  Perhaps they've seen too much of it, or perhaps adults dealing with cancer are tougher to deal with than normal adults (who are just plain tough to deal with anyway).  But the short trip that is my yearly oncology appointment doesn't really leave room for much sympathy.

Five minutes of consultation, two minutes of feeling me up, and a three second "See you in a year" led me to the lab where they would take (as usual) an inordinant amount of blood.  But in an adult cancer center, the lab consists of a closet-like space in which they stick at least two adults needing bloodwork.  This is a problem if you have a chronic inability to look while they're sticking you, much less sticking someone else. 

I was pondering all of this (while not looking to my left - the chosen arm - or at the woman in the same situation in front of me, leaving me to not think about the fact I was staringat a huge container of bio-waste - all the used needless thrown rather publicly into a specified container), when silent tears began to slip down my cheeks at the vulnerability and complete lack of sympathy for people who just need to put on their big boy or girl panties and deal with the fact they have cancer.  It needs to just be alright.  They need to be ok with this.  Really?!

The two lab techs pretended not to notice at first, made incredibly uncomfortable by the fact that I was crying (how are they not used to that in a cancer clinic, I have no idea).  The woman across from me shuffled awkwardly, and finally said "I promise it doesn't hurt, it's just a prick.  It'll be over in no time."  Solidarity, Sister. 

And I know that.  I can't count the times I've had blood taken.  I don't fear needles.  It really doesn't hurt.  But I kept crying all the same.

It's just traumatic.  Facing down the things you've gone through, the possibilities of time.  But it's alright.  And I guess that's what the adults by whom I was surrounded were holding on to as well.  It will be alright.  It has to be.

So Mike took me to Italian tonight to Celebrate Life, like we do every year on this day.  But my favorite part was not finding what we wanted on the dessert menu, and stopping at King Soopers at 10 pm to peruse their dessert wares.  Mike started to give me a hard time about getting two, when I said "I'm a cancer survivor.  I will have my cake and eat my brownie, too." 

He (lovingly) relented.  And it was alright.