All week I have been thinking about the thousands of people who are diagnosed with cancer everyday. I have been thinking about their families. I have been thinking about the millions of hours spent waiting: those hours between the diagnosis and the treatment plan when time seems to stand still and fear is a constant companion.
Yesterday we saw the oncologist for the first time. I had already imagined what he might say. Even before he had a face, I could hear his voice saying: Stage 4. There is no hope. Go home and take care of your affairs. Words from a movie. I knew that they were not grounded in reality but they frightened me none the less.
My fear began to dissipate the minute he came in the room: this little brown man with an East Indian accent. He was stern, but polite. His first question: "Do you know why you're here?" So any possible answers: Because we did something wrong? Because the world is full of pain and suffering? Because cancer is a change agent in a world where everyone and everything is impermanent? Bill avoided the philosophical pitfalls and stuck to the medical facts instead. He provided a detailed description of the chain of events that led us to that moment. The doctor listened and then he said: "I think that your cancer is stage 2. I think that you are a good candidate for surgery. I think that we can cure your cancer."
Stage 2 cancer: cause for celebration. Who would have thought?
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