Observations on Visiting a Cancer Hospital…

It is pretty much known that my husband is a Stage 4 cancer patient.  Rather than get into the details and treatments, etc. I will say that “statistics” show that he has a five-year life expectancy.  But statistics don’t call the shots.  Only G-D can do that. MHN went undiagnosed for one year, not for lack of trying to figure out what was wrong. Doctor after doctor had one wrong diagnosis after another; yet fast forward, here we are starting year three. With cancer.  With metastasized cancer.

Most of his treatments are at Smilow in Guilford, though he has had to have tests at Smilow New Haven as well as a hospitalization at the St. Raphael campus of Yale.  That where he was finally diagnosed by a physician who had the bedside manner of a toilet seat.   But as we moved on and he was matched with a wonderful oncologist who learned how to listen to his patients, MHN’s situation improved.  MHN was able to share his concerns and fears and this doctor is working with him along his journey.

Upon entering the waiting room in Guilford, I am struck with the thought of “Oh, the humanity”, the same words uttered by Herbert Morrison upon seeing the explosion of the Hindenburg zeppelin.  Cancer has no mercy.  Children, young teens, people in their young adult life and much older people.  Some look very sick, pale and severely thin; others look like they stepped off a runway.  You can’t determine at what stage they are in their diagnosis, whether in remission, recently diagnosed or in on going treatments.  You just know as their first name is called, they have suffered. Or they will suffer. 

But one thing strikes me about nearly each and every patient.  They all have smiles on their faces and all seem to be at peace.  Whether looking at their mobile telephones or reading a magazine or book or quietly chatting with a companion, or even just calmly staring into space – maybe in prayer or meditation, there is a serenity about them.  I remember other people I have known who have had cancer and I remember thinking the same thing about them.  They almost looked angelic.  Whether this is a projection of my understanding that death may be closer for them than not, I do not know.

To work in a cancer hospital takes a special kind of person.  Whether physician, nurse, or office assistant, each of them was either trained in the loving care of these special people or they are just extraordinary human beings.  There is one volunteer who is at the hospital every single time we have been there.  I wonder “What is his story?”  How does a person choose to be in this environment? 

I don’t know how this story will unfold.  I know what I want and for what I pray.  But, who am I but someone whose life has been inconvenienced by cancer?  I lost a sister and my mother to cancer.  Both suffered tremendously.  Will MHN be spared or will I watch him eventually suffer beyond what seems tolerable for a human?

I sometimes think that those with cancer and the people who work with them are the chosen people.  We are all here to learn a lesson which can only be taught from the base of existence, way beyond thinking about what’s for supper or does the dog need a bath?  It goes way beyond that which we can understand until we are faced with our mortality.

To those patients and to those who work with them, may G-D bless you all.