Reflection 44 -- The Annual Checkup
It is hard to believe that it has been 12 months since my life-altering operation (2 June 2017). But it has. As I sit here in the Waiting Room anticipating the calling of my name, I cannot help but reflect on 'the good, the bad and yes, the ugly' over this time in my life.
The most positive aspect was finding a Cancer Buddy. She, along with her reflective spouse is of great benefit in providing the encouragement I need when my morale requires a boost or a simple kick in the back end!
Like this morning. I could not help but text my Cancer Buddy and communicate that I was experiencing a 'bump in the road.' She immediately sensed my frame-of-mind through my subtext. Soon good tidings flowed from her heart. My Cancer Buddy is wonderful. Every cancer survivor should have one. Nobody can quite understand like someone who is going through what you are personally feeling. 'Been there, done that' is not merely a tagline. They speak the same language.
‘Empathy' is the word that I am trying to write down here.
I noticed for the first time, a window immediately to my right. Glancing outside, not too much time passed and before my eyes, a Forest Tent Caterpillar came into view. It didn't surprise me since these creepy crawlers are found in Manitoba and infestations happen every decade or so. Maybe this is the year?
This grey, blue and white butterfly larva was inching along a twig, just large enough to accommodate its bulk. Its many legs are propelling it forward with some determination. Its head was bobbing to the right and left. I noticed that it rarely moved up and down, although it also did on occasion. At times, it paused. Perhaps it stopped to catch its breath. I wonder if it is thinking of its metamorphosis; the miracle that turns it into a more charming creature, a beautiful black and yellow butterfly?
My thoughts are interrupted by a health care worker calling my name, "Sun Wukong. Time for the routine weight check." Gee, I can hardly hear him this morning! Determining one's weight is all part of the intake protocol. It turns out that I am about the same weight as I have been for quite awhile, 75 kilograms. I have stabilized. I am making progress by not losing weight. I am pleased. My dietician will be pleased.
Back to the Waiting Room for another wait. They indeed correctly named this room, you know!
The caterpillar had also made some progress on its journey along the twig. Perhaps a lot thinking from its perspective.
Eventually, I soon found myself in one of three examining rooms. My surgeon and his protege soon joined me and spent about 20 minutes looking, questioning and answering.
"Doctor, as you know, not too long ago I had a CT-SCAN done on both sides of my head," I began. "Am I cancer free?"
With a smile, he said, "You are cancer free. Indeed, you are."
Yahoo! The balloons came out of the ceiling! Well, they did you know. I visualized red and white balloons. I was elated at the news. Oh my! I must catch my breath here. It will take some time for this news to sink in. God is good.
Too soon the doctor says, "That is about all for today. Your next scheduled appointment will be in mid-October. If you return to the Waiting Room, we'll book it straight away and give you a Reminder Notice. It is so nice to share the good news with a cancer survivor."
Floating as if on a cloud, I returned to the Waiting Room.
Sitting in the same chair that I vacated, I noticed a couple had arrived in my absence. The man and woman were seated directly across from me. They appeared to be about my age, perhaps a little older. No more than 5-years though. He looked at me from time to time as they chatted.
They were there because of him. He sported a white ascot. His voice sounded like it is computer generated. I think that he is a throat cancer survivor.
He opened the conversation. "Hi, how are you doing?" He never gave his name.
I think that he is so slim. That characteristic, along with his voice, is so noticeable. He looked almost emaciated. In my entire life, I don't think that I have seen someone so slender. He had a generous and captivating smile under his white beard and displayed kind, sparkling eyes.
"I am here for my checkup," he announced. "I had throat cancer and have been a survivor for 12 years now." There was no mistaking; his voice announced that he was very proud of this achievement. I mean, who wouldn't be? He went on some more. Not being able to catch what it is he was correctly saying, I interrupted and said that I am nearly deaf. I gave him my business card to share with his wife. She remained quiet during the conversation.
Having read the card, I handed him; the gentleman instinctively spoke louder. My card serves a meaningful purpose.
"I am here for my checkup as well. One year almost to the day cancer struck my head and neck. I lost my hearing on my right side. I only have 25% on my left. With an army background, I call them battle wounds. But this day, 20 minutes ago, my doctor just told me that I am now cancer-free. At this moment I feel I am over the top. I am just waiting for my next appointment."
"Congratulations. It is quite a feeling, isn't it? To be free, I mean." He knew precisely what I am saying.
We chatted on with some small-talk; he in his raspy voice and me now hearing much of what he was saying. We talked a little about this beautiful cancer facility, the hospitable staff, radiation therapy and of course, dry mouth. Along the way, we compared notes.
It was not too long before I began to feel connected to this man. The feeling grew to become so powerful. Perhaps that is because we shared and continued to share an experience (albeit at different times). We had a rapport. A mutual understanding was in the air. Most important, we spoke the same language, understanding each other's hurt, feelings, happiness and ideas. We dialogued. We communicated in the best possible way, direct and sincere.
Before I knew it, I was handed the Reminder Notice with my next appointment date typed in bold letters, 15th October, four months away.
As I was about to leave, I was overwhelmed by the experience and warm feeling that I just had for this man. I can only describe it as a human-to-human event being affected by another human being. He truly touched me. I could not write this the same day as our encounter. Five days have elapsed, and now I can change my feelings and thoughts into words. I wonder if he feels the same way?
Leaving the Waiting Room, I happened to glance out of the window by the chair I occupied. The caterpillar disappeared.
The most positive aspect was finding a Cancer Buddy. She, along with her reflective spouse is of great benefit in providing the encouragement I need when my morale requires a boost or a simple kick in the back end!
Like this morning. I could not help but text my Cancer Buddy and communicate that I was experiencing a 'bump in the road.' She immediately sensed my frame-of-mind through my subtext. Soon good tidings flowed from her heart. My Cancer Buddy is wonderful. Every cancer survivor should have one. Nobody can quite understand like someone who is going through what you are personally feeling. 'Been there, done that' is not merely a tagline. They speak the same language.
‘Empathy' is the word that I am trying to write down here.
I noticed for the first time, a window immediately to my right. Glancing outside, not too much time passed and before my eyes, a Forest Tent Caterpillar came into view. It didn't surprise me since these creepy crawlers are found in Manitoba and infestations happen every decade or so. Maybe this is the year?
This grey, blue and white butterfly larva was inching along a twig, just large enough to accommodate its bulk. Its many legs are propelling it forward with some determination. Its head was bobbing to the right and left. I noticed that it rarely moved up and down, although it also did on occasion. At times, it paused. Perhaps it stopped to catch its breath. I wonder if it is thinking of its metamorphosis; the miracle that turns it into a more charming creature, a beautiful black and yellow butterfly?
My thoughts are interrupted by a health care worker calling my name, "Sun Wukong. Time for the routine weight check." Gee, I can hardly hear him this morning! Determining one's weight is all part of the intake protocol. It turns out that I am about the same weight as I have been for quite awhile, 75 kilograms. I have stabilized. I am making progress by not losing weight. I am pleased. My dietician will be pleased.
Back to the Waiting Room for another wait. They indeed correctly named this room, you know!
The caterpillar had also made some progress on its journey along the twig. Perhaps a lot thinking from its perspective.
Eventually, I soon found myself in one of three examining rooms. My surgeon and his protege soon joined me and spent about 20 minutes looking, questioning and answering.
"Doctor, as you know, not too long ago I had a CT-SCAN done on both sides of my head," I began. "Am I cancer free?"
With a smile, he said, "You are cancer free. Indeed, you are."
Yahoo! The balloons came out of the ceiling! Well, they did you know. I visualized red and white balloons. I was elated at the news. Oh my! I must catch my breath here. It will take some time for this news to sink in. God is good.
Too soon the doctor says, "That is about all for today. Your next scheduled appointment will be in mid-October. If you return to the Waiting Room, we'll book it straight away and give you a Reminder Notice. It is so nice to share the good news with a cancer survivor."
Floating as if on a cloud, I returned to the Waiting Room.
Sitting in the same chair that I vacated, I noticed a couple had arrived in my absence. The man and woman were seated directly across from me. They appeared to be about my age, perhaps a little older. No more than 5-years though. He looked at me from time to time as they chatted.
They were there because of him. He sported a white ascot. His voice sounded like it is computer generated. I think that he is a throat cancer survivor.
He opened the conversation. "Hi, how are you doing?" He never gave his name.
I think that he is so slim. That characteristic, along with his voice, is so noticeable. He looked almost emaciated. In my entire life, I don't think that I have seen someone so slender. He had a generous and captivating smile under his white beard and displayed kind, sparkling eyes.
"I am here for my checkup," he announced. "I had throat cancer and have been a survivor for 12 years now." There was no mistaking; his voice announced that he was very proud of this achievement. I mean, who wouldn't be? He went on some more. Not being able to catch what it is he was correctly saying, I interrupted and said that I am nearly deaf. I gave him my business card to share with his wife. She remained quiet during the conversation.
Having read the card, I handed him; the gentleman instinctively spoke louder. My card serves a meaningful purpose.
"I am here for my checkup as well. One year almost to the day cancer struck my head and neck. I lost my hearing on my right side. I only have 25% on my left. With an army background, I call them battle wounds. But this day, 20 minutes ago, my doctor just told me that I am now cancer-free. At this moment I feel I am over the top. I am just waiting for my next appointment."
"Congratulations. It is quite a feeling, isn't it? To be free, I mean." He knew precisely what I am saying.
We chatted on with some small-talk; he in his raspy voice and me now hearing much of what he was saying. We talked a little about this beautiful cancer facility, the hospitable staff, radiation therapy and of course, dry mouth. Along the way, we compared notes.
It was not too long before I began to feel connected to this man. The feeling grew to become so powerful. Perhaps that is because we shared and continued to share an experience (albeit at different times). We had a rapport. A mutual understanding was in the air. Most important, we spoke the same language, understanding each other's hurt, feelings, happiness and ideas. We dialogued. We communicated in the best possible way, direct and sincere.
Before I knew it, I was handed the Reminder Notice with my next appointment date typed in bold letters, 15th October, four months away.
As I was about to leave, I was overwhelmed by the experience and warm feeling that I just had for this man. I can only describe it as a human-to-human event being affected by another human being. He truly touched me. I could not write this the same day as our encounter. Five days have elapsed, and now I can change my feelings and thoughts into words. I wonder if he feels the same way?
Leaving the Waiting Room, I happened to glance out of the window by the chair I occupied. The caterpillar disappeared.
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