Oh Ruby what an ordeal for you.
I remember vividly walking all alone (no-one was able to come with me) from radiology where I had my picc line inserted to oncology at the hospital, 5 weeks after surgery.
There were the lazyboy chairs with a variety of people - older than me, younger than me, some looking very ill,others smiling and chatting.As the hours dragged by with the infusion slowly dripping into my line, I thought how can I deal with 6 months of this. Like you I looked around and thought that all of these people were in the same boat but the sense of being totally alone at that point was hard to swallow and cover with a brave smile.
One of the hardest things for me was that I kept meeting people that I knew in the clinic - some my age, some older- most not going to make it, but like the gentleman you met, maintaining the facade. We would exchange hugs and wish each other the best. It was what was left unsaid that was important.
On my treatment days my parents would always come and spend the last 2 hours(of a 4 and a half hour treatment) with me and take me to lunch. No matter how I felt I ate lunch and chatted with them as they didn't deserve any more grief than to see their daughter with a whopping great permanent canula in her arm being delivered toxic chemicals every 2 weeks.
People always commented on how brave I was but I believe it has nothing to do with bravery. We go through what we do because there is no other viable choice. (Some may argue with this)So we present the "brave" smile and tell everyone we feel fine when all we want to do is cry.
Continue to think of him and his chat to you and his openness. As you continue through this experience his smile may be something that you take with you.
For me, it is those small moments that allowed me to stay sane through it all.
Take care, Samex
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