So how are you, really?

That’s a question I get fairly often, usually just before, “Well, you look good.” Today it came in a different tone. I was at the Kingsbury Cancer Center (KCC) getting my blood drawn. The man next to me lay stiffly on his recliner and stared at the cartoons on the TV above him, ignoring the remote. As the nurse and I chatted, his attention slowly pulled over to us, and while the nurse was on an errand, he asked me how I was. I realized that what he was really asking was, “How am I? How am I going to be?”
It was his first time at the KCC. He’d just been diagnosed and was about to start treatment, and when I told him that I’m feeling really great these days, but that I’m due for another chemo on Monday, he asked, “What does it feel like? Do you get really sick?” The questions poured out of him. I know the KCC, and I’m sure the doctors and nurses had told him all of this, but as a teacher I know that sometimes you have to hear the same things several times from different people to grasp them.
The nurse pointed out that everyone’s disease and treatment is unique, so everyone reacts differently. She finished up with me, so I stayed on to chat with him while I waited for my results.
I told him that for me the first couple of days after chemo are the worst from the standpoint of nausea, exhaustion, lack of appetite, but that slowly I feel better. Then, about a week after treatment I sag physically and emotionally, and then slowly I begin to feel good again. Then it’s time for the next chemo, but there’s nothing that can’t be handled.
I asked, “What kind of cancer do you have?”
His voice held a mixture of shock and a kind of grim satisfaction. “Lung cancer. Inoperable.”
I thought, wow, this guy’s really sick. I said, “The important thing is that you’re in a good place. These people are fantastic, and they’ll do everything they can.”
He said doubtfully, “I suppose attitude makes a difference.”
I agreed, and started to say how important friends and family are – but I stopped. His words and body language suggested that he doesn’t have that kind of support. I felt an impulse to take him on as a project, and had to remind myself that I, too, am sick and need to spend my energy on myself. I compromised by saying, “I’m sure we’ll see each other again here, and I look forward to talking some more,” but he had already turned away and was staring back at the cartoons.

My wbc and platelets are not yet normal but have improved enough that the doctor said I can do anything as long as I stay away from sick people. I immediately went to the Y and worked out. It felt good.