So my uncle has cancer. A particularly nasty one, but he somehow caught it early, and so he’s on the good side of a nasty probability curve. They’re well-off, and live near New York, so he’s getting treatment that’s at the edge of the state of the art.
Once a week he gets chemotherapy now (down from once a day), and once a day radiation therapy. For the last three days, I’ve driven him in, to give my aunt a break and to get some time with him one-on-one.
And I’ve been introduced to an amazing community, and to the very best of human nature.
It turns out that the appointments are at set times, and so he’s always there with the same group of people and their caretakers, and they have a kind of a club. He had to introduce me when we came in, and I sat with the other patients and caretakers and listened to them talk, because they do talk a lot.
And I’m stunned by something, by the grace and kindness and care that they take with each other. My aunt and uncle have a place in Mexico where they usually go for the winter; they’re working to get some of the other snowbirds to bring back a drug which one of the patients – a tow truck driver with lung cancer – needs, and which costs $60/dose here (he needs two a day). It costs $18/dose in Mexico.
Several of the people are in pretty bad shape, and everyone hovers around them, tending.
One women – swollen from steroids, I’d guess, dopy from painkillers and with some kind of neurological effect which makes it hard for her to move – came in. They’re Hispanic, and based on their clothes, not rich. Apparently their car broke down and another couple – just back from an around-the-world sailing trip – loaned them one. Kindness, care, and politeness mask the fear and concern.
The Hispanic woman’s husband dressed her for the cold this morning, tenderly pulling her coat on as she sat in her wheelchair, arranging her hat on her head, and then kissing her before he rolled her out.
I’ve seen this before, in parents of ‘special needs’ kids playing baseball.
It crushes me a bit that I don’t see it every day.
Sometimes, when we don’t see these acts of kindness every day it’s because we we fail to look for them. They are there, tho.
Thanks for reminding me to keep my eyes open.
As much as it hurts to be in a place where you or someone you love are part of those circumstances, it is a priviledge to witness the many small ways people show each other love. And it is sad that we are not present to that level of caring and tenderness every day, that it takes a dramatic happening for us to notice such things. My best wishes to your uncle and his *club*.
A.L.
It crushes me a bit that I don’t see it every day.
My sister is an oncology nurse who runs a similar outpatient clinic at a California hospital. From her stories, I conclude that you (and I) should be thankful we don’t see it every day. Over half the clients stop coming–their time has run out. Only an incredibly tough person (not me!) can stand that much heartbreak, day in and day out.
Chinaberry_Tree,
“It still brings tears to my eyes.”
Mine, too. *sniff* Thanks for sharing.
Armed Liberal,
Long life and good health to you and your grandfather.