Mon, 23 Jan 2006

My Dear Friends,

As I sat in the recliner at the end of the rectangular chemo room, sewing craft show doll clothes while the IV bags dripped, I could see my long-haired nurse (LH) writing in some patient files on the counter at the far left side of the room. The old gentleman, still with most of his hair, is taking his treatment in the recliner on the right wall next to me, looking and feeling well. The three beds along the wall are empty, which would be a good thing... no new cancer patients.

I could not see my other nurse, we'll call her short-hair (SH) so I don't use names, as she was on the other side of the counter. Their office / chemo preparation space is a little rectangle, attached off to the left side of the big one.

The phone rings. SH answers but I cannot hear what she is saying. A few seconds pass and I notice LH look up from her files.

She stares across the counter and says, "Susan?" and "When?"

I purse my lips to stop the tears, "LH?"

Without looking at me, she holds up her hand until she gets the full story first.

I had told LH earlier that Susan was sleeping when I went to see her on Thursday. I will refrain from making any comment on her appearance out of respect. What sticks most in my mind was the food on her swinging tabletop. Three Twinkies, an apple and some fruit juice. Life is short, eat Twinkies? For some reason, I could not get that image out of my head all weekend.

LH walks over to me. Susan died last night. She was ready and wanted to go. Holding back her own tears, LH hugs me and says she'll be sure to tell me of the arrangements as soon as she knows. I marvel at how they can do this job. LH tells me the nurses learn so much from the patients that it's a journey of personal growth for them. LH is tough. She has a serious look on her face most of the time but she is very compassionate.

LH walks back to the counter and picks up her pen.

Before she even starts to write, she turns to look at me. Then she reads my mind.

"You know, Jeanette, different situation," LH says in a stern yet reassuring tone. "She was farther advanced when we started treating her. Not in the same place as you."

I sigh looking down, "Yeah, I know. I'm walking a different path."

Someone calls back later with the arrangements. LH gives me a note. I will probably pay my respects tomorrow.

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Here's what I had planned to write today. It seems even more relevant now.

Last night, I was walking with the girls. The same half mile in baby steps that we'd done twice before. We pass a colonial like so many others in the sub, the light shining around the edges of the living room curtains.

"I wonder how that family is doing?" one says.

"Why?" I ask. "What happened?"

"The 21-year-old son committed suicide in December," she says. "Hung himself in the basement."

"Oh my God," I look over my shoulder at the house.

My first thought was that house is gonna be seriously haunted!

I say, "I would NOT spend a single night in that house!"

"No choice," she says. "Single mother, what're you gonna do? There's also a younger brother."

We keep walking and then I begin to stew.

I am SO angry. How dare he throw away something that I am fighting so hard to hold onto! Not to mention my neighbor Jennifer! And think of Susan! One man's trash is another man's treasure. Stupid kid. How I wish I had known him.

How I wish he could have put LIFE in a little gift box and tell me, "Here. I won't be needing this anymore. You can have it."

I should probably be more compassionate, as I have known many mentally ill people in my life. The kid obviously had issues. What a terrible mistake!

Still, the injustice is really hard to swallow.

Jeanette