There’s a suite of offices at Dana-Farber that has a couple
of admins, some filing cabinets and a coffee maker. I walk briskly past it
every Friday on my way from one meeting to another as though I am trying to
discretely run from a ghost. Once upon a time, that was a clinical floor, and I
was a patient getting blood work in the post-diagnosis haze of Cancerville. Now
I find myself trying hard not to see the color of the walls the way my mind
recalls them from my days in the chair. I’m in that place that lies between
patient/advocate/scientist. You know, where you are grooming over patient data
in a Johnny waiting for a scan, and then looking at a genomic analysis after
you get your results?
Over the past 6 years, I’ve been imaged on every machine in
the Partners system, some multiple times. After each scan, I find a new place
to sit and wait in mortal fear of what will be delivered on the other end of my
cricket ring tone. As a result, I’ve infected every inch of that massive
complex with my very rational fears.
But that’s just me, and I can handle myself.
What I truly struggle with are the ever-present faces of my
friends who I saw in earnest for the last time in that cafeteria, or in that
waiting room, or in radiology, or on a bed in Brigham’s. In only one instance
did I know for sure that I was walking away from a friend forever. I ducked
into a stairwell and wept silently. My tears were met with the most heart
wrenching sound that haunts me to this day. It could only have come from a
person at the instant they found out that their loved one died. We can’t make
that sound, it has to be ripped from us.
So if you see me walking down the hall a little fast, or
eating my lunch facing the wall, or reluctant to stand on one particular side
walk, it’s ok, really. In the words of Bobby D. ‘It’s life and life only’
<3 Thanks for all that you do.
ReplyDeleteAt Moffitt Cancer Center, I sometimes sense the presence of the spirits of patients who have passed there. But I always feel like they are trying to comfort me.
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