Others

Now that Covid restrictions have been lifted at the Clinic, and a patient can have someone come into the infusion area with them, I see a lot more people accompanying their loved ones again.  As you've come to know me through our weekly sharing (admittedly, I do most of the sharing, but I feel your energy "sharing" back with me) you shouldn't be surprised to hear that as I look around the waiting room or the infusion pods, I wonder what these accompanists wonder as they look around the waiting room and clinic themselves.  Sometimes I can see it in their eyes, but most times I'm imagining the thoughts in their heads - from personal experience or my generally overactive imagination.

- If it's their maiden visit to CINJ, no doubt they harbor some uncertainty - about so many aspects of what awaits them (today and into the future).  I can tell that they are trying to look and be brave for their loved one, but there are plenty of first-time jitters going on between both of them.

- If they are in the middle of the treatment process, I can imagine they may be wondering, how much longer will this ordeal and recovery have to go on?  Are we really in the middle of this, or can it drag on longer than the doctors say?  What will the results be today - and are they getting better, worse or no improvement?

- If they are nearing the end of their therapy - they must be hopeful about how soon these visits will end.  Hoping for a positive outcome, they are curious how long their loved one will now stay cancer free. If we are done, will they be coming back again - ever?

- And if their visit is scheduled because they are back for a checkup, are they still clear, has that cancer returned, or worse - spread?  You can't really tell on your own (cancer doesn't hurt to the degree that you can feel if it's back or spread), so a return appointment can be almost as uncertain as the first one - and maybe even more unsettling in its potential for bad news.

I'll never truly know how these "Wing" people feel, but I can smile at them under my mask and hope that the reassuring twinkle in my eyes helps them know that whatever the outcome, there is a cancer cadre here at CINJ (of patients and caregivers) who are supporting them as much as they are supporting their loved one through this challenging life journey.

PS: So, it turns out that I have Ocular Rosacea; but the treatment for it is not even recognized by insurance companies as a medical necessity. Oh well.