Cancer sucks

Today, I went to the Cancer Treatment Center with my dear friend, Michelle. It is always bittersweet to sit in the rooms and listen to her doctor talk about her cancer. They are so impressed with her progress. She is doing so well and they are preparing her for surgery. I don't having anything poetic to say, or any real insight. My brain is a little foggy from lack of sleep and a long morning of lots of information. But I will say, as I watched another couple walk in smiling bravely at the friendly staff. And I heard them say, welcome, we will start your tour soon. My heart dropped. It's in those waiting rooms that you really see people. People with their loved ones, like me. Who sit and listen, trying to understand and retain everything and trying to think of any questions to ask before they leave the room. It's not until they've been gone that you think of something smart to say. Then there are people walking in for the first time, scared and unsure. Wanting a miracle, but dreading the thought of what's next. And then, the veteran's, who have been there enough to know the staff on a first named basis. Who walk in with or without hair, in a bath robe and slippers, or a beautiful wig, false eyelashes and make-up perfect. Brave faces, sad faces, sick faces. It takes only a momentary smile across the room and a small talk to make a connection with them as they sit and wait their turn to walk through those double doors. Scheduling, your head nurse, your lead Dr., your natropath, your nutritionist, your psychologist, your surgical team...Teams and teems of people. And I found myself today, with a veteran. Her hair is gone, the "lump", the "mass", the thing that changed everything..is all but gone. Hair seemingly a small price to pay for the destruction of the disease that raged within. But as we walked through the halls and each staff member greeted her by name and smiled they were encouraged at how amazingly her cancer has been all but beat. I was still filled with fear, like the first time I walked in..And hope, there has always been hope and of course sadness. There are still so many that continue to walk through the doors, who quickly become veterans, who so quickly are put through the machine of "cancer care"..I just can't wrap my mind around the fact that one of my dearest closest friends is going through this. I never thought I'd become a familiar person at a Cancer Treatment Center. I was hoping, like us all, that those buildings would remain only something I saw in a commercial. It seems ridiculous to be talking about MY sadness and MY discomfort. I know Michelle has been through so much this year and unfortunately will continue to battle this thing. And honestly, I don't know what the plan is. I don't have some great insight on the outcome. I just know that day by day she is getting better and I am thankful for that. It also gave me such a powerful sense of life, today, I remember that each day is precious. When we have moments of clarity, outside of ourselves it reaches deep inside our core and heightens our senses to the reality of the gifts that surround us. I'm thankful for that moment, even though it hurts.