Better Than None by Olivia Jake Read Free Book Online Page A

it
better, but you’re not the only one. Look at all these people.” The truth was,
I was grasping at straws trying to find something, anything even remotely
positive to say. I thought that perhaps there was comfort in knowing that she
wasn’t singled out for this disease. Other people got through it and managed,
and hopefully survived. If they were here, dealing with it, then so could she.
So could I.
    Then again, there were some patients who I thought, that poor soul .
Women and men so frail, so old, it was hard not to wonder what the point was. I
tried not to pity them and assume their last moments on this earth would be
spent going to doctor’s offices and poisoning their bodies in the hopes that
the poison did more than just make them as weak and sick and miserable as they
seemed. As I looked around, I saw so much sadness and resignation. But I also
saw compassion in the smallest of gestures. An elderly wife holding her
husband’s bruised and wrinkled hand as she smiled at him. Caretakers helping
patients who weren’t their own flesh and blood. Caring smiles exchanged between
strangers. The majority of the patients were elderly, but there were a few
people who I thought could be around my age, though without hair, eyelashes and
eyebrows, it was hard to tell. Still, they couldn’t have been much older than
me.
    Then, of course, there was the perspective that this was real life,
real shit. None of these people had a choice about this. For so long I had been
wrapped up in my bubble of poor little sex deviant, that sitting in this
waiting room made me just flat out embarrassed to think of how much time I’d
wasted on what now looked so trivial. Of course, that was my reality. And now,
this was.
    I gently took my mom’s bony hand in mine and held it, stroking her soft
skin with my thumb. She looked over at me and smiled. There just wasn’t much to
say that we hadn’t already said to each other over the last week while waiting
for this appointment. So much of this disease, this diagnosis, so far, had been
the waiting. Waiting for doctors. Waiting for test results. Waiting to hear
what the next steps would be. I imagined it would continue to be a waiting
game. Waiting for the meds to work, for more test results, further prognosis.
Even in just these beginning stages, it was virtually impossible for us not to
get ahead of ourselves.
    When our name was finally called and the nurse took us back beyond the
double doors into the actual office and treatment areas, I was amazed again by
the sheer size. It was like a cancer treatment factory with dozens upon dozens
of patient rooms. We stopped at one of a few height and weight stations where a
nurse took both of those. When she finished, she led us into one of the large
chemo rooms. I have no idea if that’s what they were called, but they were the
rooms with rows and rows of reclining chairs and IV stands. A decorator’s
nightmare. As I looked around, it was obvious that many of the patients were
old pros. Their expressions were nothing like mine and Barb’s. There was no
puzzlement, question or anxiety in their faces. This was old hat to them. I
realized that in the coming weeks and months, it would be for us as well.
There’s usually comfort in familiarity, but in this case, I would have chosen
discomfort if I had the choice. But no one in this room had a choice, or not
any good choices. I recalled all the commercials I had seen or heard about
different types of cancer treatment centers and their various approaches. Now
that we were actually faced with it, there was no time to drive hundreds of
miles to get a second opinion. All of the appointments so far were already so
all consuming that the thought of adding other doctors, other approaches into
the mix was beyond daunting. So we followed the course that was set out for us
as I imagine most people do.
    The nurse settled us into our spot, each recliner had a corresponding
IV stand and ‘guest’ chair next to it.