the day before chemo i rode up in the elevator with just one other person, a nice elderly man. we had both declined to take the earlier, very full, undoubtably germ-filled elevator. H1N1 anyone? no, thank you.
i felt good that day; i was vibrating with energy. we stopped at the 10th floor and one of us almost leapt out of the elevator and the other slowly shuffled out using his cane. but as i waited for him to make his way along the hall, i suddenly realized we were both going to the same place: the oncologist.
the waiting room that day was completely filled with very old, very frail, and very vulnerable people. one sweet couple were arm in arm. she sat there wearing a wig, slightly askew, in what was probably her natural hair color sixty years earlier, while her husband listened for the receptionist to call her name.
what was i doing here? clearly, a mistake has been made.
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