The Newbie

The magazine selection in the radiology waiting room is stereotypical: Golf Digests so old that they mention the up-and-coming unknown, Tiger Wood, Good Housekeeping with a special section on Christmas meals for forty, and specific waiting room magazines with names like Survive and Cure, all of which make me certain I must be in worse shape than I thought. Maybe the reading matter is deliberately chosen to encourage conversation, because after a few days of leafing through the magazines you're ready to talk to anyone. This is where I found out where the Lung Cancer Woman bought her cane, and that the dapper man with the hat isn't going to quit smoking "because it may be in my brain, but at least it isn't in my lungs."
So of course today when someone new came in, I leaped into conversation with him. He said, "You know, it's my first day here," and when I looked more closely I saw that shell-shocked look in his eyes. He went on, "It's here," patting his jaw, "But that's the lymph node. They've been testing me for two months, but this is the first time they're actually going to do anything."
"They really go to town on the tests, don't they. We're so lucky to have access to all of this technology. When they finally can start treating you, they know exactly what they're doing."
He said, "I don't know what any of the side effects are or anything."
If he was in for treatment, then I knew that he'd been told about side effects, but some things take a while to sink in. I was all set to give him my totally biased rundown on what to expect, but they called me in for my treatment, so all I could say was, "You couldn't be in a better place than this." I thought he looked marginally more hopeful.
Sometimes I forget that this diagnosis is a shock to almost everyone. You deal with it in your own ways, and that's what I want to write about next.