I had no shoes…

"I complained I had no shoes until I saw a man with no feet."

The last time we were in the Oncologist's office (last Monday) Robin had her blood drawn. There's a special room with several chairs and Robin was sitting in the small room next to an older, frail looking man who appeared to be in early seventies. They were each being attended to by a nurse who was tying off their arms and sticking them with needles to take a vial or two of blood.

I waited in the hall outside and was standing by a fairly spry but tired looking woman who appeared to be in her early 60's. We were both holding coats, bags and possessions belonging to our patients. In this sphere of families impacted by cancer when you see a couple it is not impolite to inquire who is the patient, what is their disease and where are they in the treatment process. The cancer is the common thread that brings us together in the doctor's office, in the hospital, in the housing for out-of-towners.

I asked quietly if the man in the room was her husband and she replied "yes". I inquired if he's just starting treatment, or if he's almost complete. (you never ask if someone is "near the end"!) She said that they were lucky because he was just completing his treatments. Then she added that they had a bit of bad luck. The prior week she had been diagnosed with cancer and she was now preparing to start her treatment in the coming week. I fumbled for something to say about that being "too bad". By that time we both had tears welling up in our eyes that we were suppressing. She went on to say that she thought she was up to fighting it, but she wasn't sure if her husband had the energy to support her. We talked a little bit about the roles of patient vs. caregiver. Our chatting seemed to fade away, but I felt that she'd been able to get something off her chest and I'd been there to help listen. Soon our patients were ready to move on to their next stops and we parted ways.