Mom works at a local cancer center, and when I popped over to her office this morning I couldn't help but notice the sorrowful glances I received as I made my way to the second floor. I got a few hellos with downcast eyes, while another man worked up a smile to say good morning. But that was before he gave me the I'm sorry you have cancer face.
They think I have cancer! I DON'T HAVE CANCER.
But now I know what it's like to walk into the chemotherapy unit of a cancer center as a young, vibrant (cough) woman in her mid-twenties. While most of the patients had reached their golden ages, looking rather weak, in I walk with blonde hair, sweatpants and a cell phone in hand.
And, oh, how they pitied me. I can imagine the hushed conversations they had as I stood amongst them in the waiting room.
Oh, the poor things. So young.
Look, she must be too weak today to shower.
Must be all that tanning she did in college. Damn, kids.
Alright, so I hadn't actually showered yet, so I'll give 'em that. But I felt so touched in that moment of pity, that I almost wanted cancer to fit in.
Dear God, just kidding.
Fortunately, I was only there to
beg for money say hi, and as soon as Mom and I exchanged pleasantries, I was off. Out of the cancer center. Where I hope to never return for reasons other than to pilfer what I need from Mom.