It’s strange to be a patient but not really a patient. Websters defines patient as -an individual awaiting or under medical care and treatment.  I’m definitely not awaiting care.  I went to MDA for a follow-up appointment this week. I am 17 months past the day that I learned that there is no evidence of disease. I was not anxious about my appointment this time. I felt different being at MDA. I had feelings similar to those expressed in an early blog from when I was first diagnosed and didn’t feel like I looked like a cancer “patient”.

 

Do I Even Need The Title Of Patient?

When I met people on the plane or the hotel asked why I was in Houston I wasn’t sure how to answer. I am here to go to MD Anderson. Am I a patient? Not really, I’m here for follow up so does that make me a patient? I don’t feel like a patient.  “I’m here because I’m a survivor?” How about, I’m here for an appointment.  It’s strange that I even felt like I needed to qualify my status.

 

There’s A Connection With Some Patients, Not All

While in the waiting room of the Gyn clinic I chatted with a 36-year-old woman and her mother. Throughout this journey, my path has crossed with many others. Some you connect with. There’s no recipe for who that might be. It’s not always the person who has the same circumstances as you do. However, when you do make a connection, it sticks. Either by continuing to communicate or the person leaves a lasting impact.  The impact might be small, maybe a word that reminds you of them and the importance of that word, or it might be greater. I’m sure there’s a psychological study that has facts, this is just my observation.

The woman I met is battling cervical cancer for the third time.  She lives in another city and travels to MD Anderson to participate in a clinical trial. We had some common ground but that was probably the extent of it. We talked about the changes that we have made in our lives as a result of cancer. She was optimistic and confident. She was hoping that day would be her last round of chemo. I didn’t get her information to stay in touch but I still think about her and hope that day was her last treatment.

 

There’s A Sick Feeling I Only Get Here And I’m Not Alone

We talked about the feeling she gets just getting on the plane to come to Houston. It’s a sick feeling that I remember well. For me, it was a feeling that I had never experienced before and haven’t since finishing chemo. It’s different than anxiety. It was a physical feeling. A sick stomach as I anticipated why I was going to Houston. Routines, smells, patterns that are all triggers of what lies in store for the next few days. When I told her that I knew exactly what she meant she turned to her mom and said “see, it’s not just me”. It’s a club that we are in whether we want to be or not.

When she was called back to see the doctor I got up to say goodbye. I asked if I could hug her and she said “absolutely” and gave me a big hug.

 

What Kind Of Patient Was/Am I?

There are so many patients at MD Anderson. Obviously, it’s a cancer center. There are a few “categories” I’ve created in my mind.

Some are noticeably very sick. Obvious category, right?

The next is others who look ok but you can tell they are the patient. Determining “who is the patient” isn’t a conscious thought process but it is an automatic thought for me at MD Anderson. When you see a couple or two people walking together, one is obviously the patient and the other is the caregiver. At least the caregiver at that moment.   It’s that group, the ones who look ok but are the patient, that I have noticed as a subset. Some look and act miserable. They are miserable, rightfully so.

There is another group of people who are patient and still have a bounce in their step. They make eye contact and say hello. They seem noticeably aware of their attitudes and refuse to give cancer an inch. These people make the experience more tolerable.

 

So. Many. Sick. People.

I think I noticed it one other time but there were a lot of really sick people this time. I know, they have cancer, they are very sick.  I don’t know why it was so noticeable to me this trip. Likely because I don’t feel like a patient. I texted Barbara about it. It was a comment that I felt I could only share with her.  She has walked the halls with me so many times that I knew she would understand what I was seeing.

 

Humor Has Always Helped

During my treatment and time at MD Anderson with Barbara, I appreciated the comedic relief she provided. Although I was there alone this time, it was no different. As I was waiting to be called to see the doctor another patient in the waiting room was eating hard-boiled eggs. Yes, stinky eggs. I personally think that there is never an acceptable time to eat hard-boiled eggs in public. The smell is so unpleasant. I texted Barbara to tell her. Again, she was the only one I felt would understand.  She knew I wasn’t being disrespectful to another patient but also what it would be like for someone to be eating eggs in a waiting room. Remember a few paragraphs up when I told you about the sick feeling I get? Egg smell didn’t ease that for me. Her response was simply “pic” meaning, take a picture of the woman. I covertly got the picture and we laughed via text with several “hahahahahahahaha” texts back and forth. Please don’t judge.  I know it’s juvenile but humor worked for me. Eggs worked for her.

 

Roller Coaster Of Emotions In One Day

Then it was my turn to go back for my exam and meet with Dr. Westin. As I was sitting on the exam table it brought back the memories of my first time sitting there when I was extremely nervous. At the time, the only thing I knew to do to calm myself was to pray. My prayer on this visit was shorter as I thought about being in a similar exam room on March 15, 2012. My thoughts went from nervous thoughts to happy thoughts within a matter of seconds. It was in the exam room that Dr. Westin told me that there was no evidence of disease. That was an incredible feeling to hear those words. After my exam Dr. Westin said she thinks I’m doing great. I got tearful when I heard her say it. It will never get old for me to hear.