Remembering to Connect

I had my 6-month checkup with my oncologist. I’m fortunate that I can say I am years out from my initial Follicular Lymphoma diagnosis. And while I’ve had some long-term side effects from treatment (like atrial fibrillation and two kinds of skin cancer, one of them removed not long ago), I’ve stayed fairly healthy.

Even after all of this time, though, my 6-month appointments always have me a little on edge. I used to have my appointments in the early afternoon, but the last couple have been switched to early morning to accommodate my oncologist’s schedule. And early morning means I drive to my appointment in the middle of rush hour. That doesn’t help my nerves.

Feeling nervous for my appointments

For a recent appointment, I also had to deal with the street construction that was happening near the cancer center. I did my best to remain calm. When I got to the parking garage, there was a truck blocking the entrance. I had to get back into the traffic and drive around the building to get to the other entrance.

The parking garage is also under construction, and the few spaces that were open were too narrow because someone else had done a bad job of parking. So I had to circle around and fight with other cars to get to a space when we saw someone walking to their car.

When I got into the hospital, I had to wait in line at the reception desk to get my “visitor” sticker. The line was held up by someone at the front who was chatting with the security guard. Apparently the guard remembered her from a few months ago, and they were catching up. None of this did anything to calm my nerves.

Connecting with another person

After I checked in, I went to the blood draw station to get my blood tested. It wasn’t too crowded there, just a couple of other people waiting, so I finally had a chance to take a few deep breaths and try to relax.

The phlebotomist called out my first name, and I stood up – along with another man my own age. I smiled politely, and he laughed. “Which one?” he asked the phlebotomist. “I don’t know,” she said. “I just looked at the first name. Hold on.” She went back inside to look at the record again.

The other man laughed again. “You know, maybe we should switch places. I’m happy to have someone else deal with what I’m dealing with.”

I thought about my skin cancer surgery wound, still bandaged, and the pill in my pocket for a possible A-Fib event. “Be careful what you wish for,” I said, smiling. “This is a cancer hospital.”

He laughed. The phlebotomist came back and said the other man’s last name. “Good luck” he called back to me as he followed her in.

Knowing I'm not alone

I sat back down. That small bit of joking around with another patient gave me a little rush of endorphins, and I felt better. There’s something very comforting about knowing that you’re not alone.

And that made me think about the people who had parked so poorly in the garage. No doubt, they were nervous wrecks. This is a cancer hospital, after all. They were focused on other things.

And I thought about the woman holding up the line at the security desk, chatting with the desk attendant. How comforting that must have been to have someone recognize her and say hello. Her day must have gone so much better after that.

I need to remind myself to connect

Sometimes, I need to remind myself to connect. I think about other patients with cancer and what they are going through. Having cancer can be a lonely experience. But even small moments of connection with other patients can have big impacts.

I got in the elevator to go up to the seventh floor for my appointment. We stopped at every floor before we got to mine. I made sure to smile at everyone who got in.