Ah Ruby, you take me back a few years to my first day of radiotherapy. similar routine except that I had a pigeon hole for my gown - mine for the next few weeks. It was incredibly important to me as suddenly I changed from being the nameless person in the white backless gown to actually existing with my name on a pigeon hole. You also take me to my future. I've already had some radiotherapy that is palliative - great care was taken to ensure that I realised that this might slow down the progression but it would not stop things. So in a few years time I may well be that man, telling people in the waiting room about my children and grandchildren, trying to keep up a front, keep wearing the happy mask. I had a similar experience of being in the general waiting room and an elderly lady wearing an ill fitting wig, that kept slipping backwards, talking, talking , talking about her experience. All I could do was be polite and try to make polite noises. I feel as if I let her down.
I was actually quite lucky when I had my first session of radiotherapy - I met the same people most of the time and we talked to each other - not about much or anything important. We also shared in doing the jigsaw puzzles that they used to have in the waiting rooms. Over one of those, putting pieces of jigsaw together a young lady, more than young enough to be my daughter, talked to me about her grandfather. She came in with him each day, brought him in for his treatment. She told me all about him, what he had done through his life, about his family and through it just how important he was to her. I felt privileged to be the person that she chose to tell this to. I often think of her and hope that my relationship with my grandchildren might be as rich as hers was with her grandfather.
It then bring me on to one of my pet hates - waiting rooms. They seem designed deliberately to isolate us, to hinder us having any relationship with our fellow human beings who are in a similar situation. If any of you get a chance Google "Maggies Centres" and have a look at the philosophy of these centres in the UK, that arose from an architect getting cancer. There the waiting rooms are designed to look like a lounge room in a home, with a kitchen off them where you can make yourself a cup of teas and chat to other people.
That in turn brings me on to one of my passions - the importance of us telling each other our stories. Our stories are the way we make meaning of what has happened to us, how we project our identity and how we learn from each other. It is through stories and the telling of stories that the ways of understanding our world become possible.
So thank you Ruby for sharing with us this part of your story.
Cheers
Sailor
The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach - waiting for a gift from the sea. Anne Morrow Lindbergh
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