For some people, cancer treatment is fairly straightforward. They get surgery, radiation, chemotherapy, or a combination of treatments, and within a few months, they resume their normal lives. For others, life with cancer has its ups and downs.
When my mother started her lung cancer treatment, she couldn't really walk on her own. She was weak and her breathing was labored. She went to her first treatment in a wheelchair, hooked up to a large tank of oxygen on a continuous feed.
I accompanied her to her treatments. On her first radiation appointment, she was so frail, she couldn't finish changing into her hospital gown, so I helped her get dressed. The technician came to wheel her into the treatment room, where the machine would precisely target her cancer. A student technician helped her to her feet, to move her onto the table. That's when it happened. Her pants, the first thing she had unbuttoned and unzipped as she tried to dress herself, fell to the floor. She looked down at the puddle of clothing on the floor and then looked up at Carl. Well over six feet, he towered over my mother. "Could I get a little help?", she asked. With a courtly manner that respected my mother's injured dignity, Carl reached to the floor, pulled up my mother's pants and buttoned them for her. Her treatment went on as scheduled, but that moment solidified her relationship with Carl. He could do no wrong. She looked forward to seeing him when she was at the cancer center for her treatments. When he graduated and got a permanent position at the hospital, she was as thrilled as if he were her own grandson. He often would see my mother across the waiting room and give me a little sign. I would distract my mother as Carl snuck around to surprise her. She was always delighted to see him.
Over the next couple of years, my mother would periodically run into Carl, usually when she was in the cancer center for chemotherapy, but sometimes when she was having a radiation check-up. Over time, my mother learned that his mother was a mid-wife, who practiced in the UK and in Jamaica, and she was always glad to hear when Carl's mother was coming for a visit. Carl played a very important role in my mother's cancer treatment. He never treated my mother with pity. He was always kind and courteous, always glad to stop and say hello. He was like family.
There were other technicians at the cancer center who played equally important roles in my mother's cancer treatment. Denise would always greet my mother with a big, cheery hello and a big hug when she came to get her for blood tests and a weight check. It was hard not to like Denise, because her bubbly personality spilled over you like seltzer water on a hot day. She was refreshing, funny and sweet.
I always carried a big purse to the cancer center. I cannot tell you the number of times people commented on it. "That's a suitcase, not a pocketbook!" What they didn't know was that it was my job to make sure that everything happened for my mother that she needed to have happen. In my pocketbook, I carried the calendar that tracked all of my mother's medical appointments with her many doctors. It was my job to coordinate everything. I always had the most current list of her prescriptions, according to their dosage, prescribing physician, and special instructions. I would hand the copy to the doctor, so the information could be added to my mother's medical record. Sometimes there would magazines she hadn't finished reading; other times, there were magazines she was donating, so patients would have something to read during their appointments. There might be my mother's jewelry in one of the many compartments of my pocketbook, if she needed to take it off during treatments. I was the keeper of her secrets and her treasures. I sometimes even carried a small tank of oxygen. People were always amazed to see me pull out the little tank from the gold leather bag and hook her up to it. My pocketbook was a lot like a clown car at the circus. You never knew what was going to come out of it.
The cancer center was a lot like my purse. You don't always see what's inside or appreciate it for what it holds. It takes a lot of people to help someone get through cancer treatments. Looking back, I remember them all with great fondness. They were a lifeline for my mother. She lived longer and better because of their treatment. There was nothing intimidating about the cancer center or its staff. That's important, because when you're helping care for someone with cancer, it builds a camaraderie that's going to help you and your loved one navigate the hurdles of cancer treatment. If you feel comfortable, you're more likely to ask questions, and that's when you find out that there are options or changes that you can implement, to make a difference in how the cancer treatment goes. Remember that it's always a team effort, and there are many people working together to obtain the best outcome possible. You're a part of that support team. When you're caring for a cancer patient, walk softly and carry a big pocketbook.
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