Monday, July 13, 2009

A Room of Unknowns

You walk into this room at the announcement of your name.

The only sound you hear is the air exchanger as it exhales the stale, unhealthy air to the outside and inhales the fresh oxogen from high above.

Five minutes in here seems like you' ve already most definitely overstayed your visit and your nervous system is reacting to the thoughts that you are conjuring up as you wait. There's pictures on the walls....not of any scenic views, but of lungs, livers, breasts and ovaries. There's a bed draped in white, awaiting it's next inhabitant. There's plastic gloves of different varieties, uninviting chairs and a bulletin board with various notices that no one ever reads.

This room is so barron. There's a cold hard floor, drab pale color on it's walls and you constantly glare at the doorknob watching for someone to begin to turn it from the other side.

You cross your legs several times as you wait, you fold your arms, you look at the ceiling, you chat idly sometimes to the other person who has accompanied you here and you wait, and wait and's similiar to waiting outside an emergency operating room while you await your loved ones diagnosis.

You try to remember what you have to ask, you go over and over it in your head so many times just in case you forget the most important questions and as your waiting time grows longer, so does your anxiety levels.

Suddenly, that doorknob begins to turn and voila.....there is your oncologist! Your heartbeat increases for now he will deliver your fate, whether with good news or news that is for now, not so encouraging. It's suddenly difficult to swallow and every question you had on your mind to ask him, has now vanished. You are riding an emotional roller coaster.

As your oncologist opens your medical folder and begins his idle chit chat, you can instantly tell what he's about to say. How can you determine this? You watch his facial reactions as he reads your most recent CT or MRI report. You try to interpret your results by his strong or weak hand shake and by the length of time it takes him to begin his diagnosis.

Well, this is not your first time in this room. It's not the first time you've endured the same anxiety, the same uncertainty and the same rapid heart rate awaiting to hear your destiny. Why is it not your first time? Because as a cancer patient, you will probably have many visits to your oncologist's office while you await reports from numerous tests. This all becomes a part of your cancer journey, but the main ingredient to remember in all of this is

"Each time you visit your oncologist for an appointment, you have been truly blessed. You are a true hero and your inner strength far outweighs the anxiety you may feel at any appointment. Stay positive whatever your diagnosis, keep the faith and never quit!"

1 comment:

Daria said...

Yes ... so true ... never quit!