Don't Cry

I finish my daily journaling and open my phone to play a game of Sudoku as I sit alone waiting for Tom. This has become our routine for the last six weeks. Twice a day we drive the short block from our room at The Hope Lodge to Building 3, the Cancer Building of the Mayo Clinic in Phoenix, Arizona so Tom can have a proton beam radiation treatment. 

Tom is in the back completing treatment number 60, his final treatment. Joe and Suzy walk in for Joe’s daily treatment as I am about to solve the Sudoku puzzle and we say our hello’s. Suzy says to me “Is today the day?” I answered her, “Yes! Finally the last treatment is upon us!” 

Joe asks me if I am happy to be heading home.I have missed home so badly! We drove almost 700 miles from our home in Utah to stay in Phoenix for two months so Tom could have the life saving proton radiation treatments. I fell in love with Phoenix but I am so homesick I can’t wait to get home. Our stay at the Mayo Clinic has been so long and yet such a short adventure.

I look around this waiting room and ponder on all the people I have gotten to know so well. Joe is being treated for prostate cancer. He and Suzy live in Flagstaff and have driven their motor home to Phoenix and have been staying in an RV Park while Joe is being treated. My fond memory of this couple is the time Suzy’s cell phone rang as the room was packed with patients and their caregivers. The ringtone had a pig snorting and was a super obnoxious country sounding farm tone. Joe looked up at everyone, slightly embarrassed by the sound, and said “my mother in law." Suzy answered to talk to her mom and everyone in the waiting room erupted into laughter.

I think about Rob and Jaime, they are both 23 years old and Rob has leukemia. They moved from Colorado to stay with Rob’s parents who live in Scottsdale so he can have his treatments. They are young and beautiful, far too young to be dealing with a cancer diagnosis; far too young to leave promising careers in Colorado. I think about Mary, she is tall and thin with dark beautiful skin and probably in her thirties. She looks like a fashion model. She comes to every treatment alone and doesn’t talk much. She is being treated for breast cancer and I can't help but feeling so lonely when I see her.

There are so many people, and so many different stories. I have fought my tears over each and every one of them. Sitting in this waiting room twice a day, every single week-day while Tom is in the back having a treatment, I have come to learn about these people. I have eavesdropped on their conversations. I listened as they whispered about their panic, their fears, their hopes and dreams. I have been witness to small children fighting cancer; thier parents looking tired, sad, and hopeful all combined. Children get to have the first treatments of the day because the clinic anesthetizes them. To receive a proton radiation treatment means to be strapped down to a table, unable to move the entire time, for the entire treatment. Being strapped to the table in this manner has brought on claustrophobia for many and brought anxiety and panic attacks to others. Tom is strapped to the table by his head with a large plastic mask. It holds his head completely still so they can deliver the proton beam of radiation directly to his brain. 

I have watched as the tears fall from the worried and exhausted eyes of the other caregivers, (I am now labeled a caregiver). As a caregiver we put on a brave face for our loved ones who have to fight a battle for life. We act as their solid rock of support while we are breaking inside. We put our own problems in the background so we can be there 100% for our beloved.

I have celebrated with these people. The clinic has a bell in the waiting room for the patient to ring directly after their final treatment. Staff will cheer, the family of the patient will cheer, cry happy tears, and take pictures. They usually also bring treats to leave in the waiting room for everyone else. Those of us waiting and watching imagine and long for the day when the bell ringing will be our loved one. 

What kind of fancy treats will we bring? Tom and I will muse as we cheer on the latest patient. Myself, I worry about crying; although they are happy tears, I don’t want to cry in front of everyone. I hate to cry in front of anybody. I worry about how I will contain myself, keeping my tears at bay until I am alone. 

Being in this waiting room I have realized that cancer truly has no boundaries. It affects the young, the old, rich, poor, middle class, there is no discrimination. Tom is here to have a chordoma treated. Chordomas are a rare cancer, they typically grow slow and won’t usually metastasize and almost always recur. He is being treated for recurrence number two. He is only 61 years old, I am 48 and I feel like we are both too young to be dealing with this. I feel guilty for feeling this way when I see Rob and Jaime - Jaime has put her life on hold too - to care for Rob, yet they are only 23! This waiting room has been a place of much pondering for me, life is too short and we need to live while we have life. 

I am so thankful Tom is such a positive person, he rolls with the punches and almost never complains. We spend our time between treatments eating, walking the desert trails around the clinic, and exploring the Phoenix and Scottsdale areas. The weekends are free time and we utilize the time to drive and explore. 

I came here to wait in this waiting room for Tom exactly 60 times now, I put my job and my life on hold. I left my three adult children and two grandsons back home to be here for him. I left my blind mother who is quite dependent on me in the care of my brother and my own kids. 

I wouldn’t change it for the world. Being here has given me pause and time to reflect on life, my own life, my relationship with Tom. All of my love for him, I would never change my decision to be there for him. To be here with him. He keeps saying “it feels like we are in a dream” Tom doesn’t like change and being here for him must seem that way. I embrace change so for me it's just what we had to do to save his life. 

I finish the Sudoku puzzle on my phone and put it away. I need to focus on keeping my tears at bay when Tom comes back and takes his turn ringing the bell. The waiting room has gotten crowded as several couples we have come to know and love during our stay here made a special trip to this waiting room, a trip outside of their own treatment schedule, to watch their good friend Tom walk through the door for the last time and ring the bell. Seeing all these people who came just for Tom has tears forming in my eyes; Everyone loves him. I think about the fresh fruit and pastries that we brought in to share with everyone, and jump up from my seat, attempting to distract my thoughts while the tears dry up. 

As I walk back to my seat I see Tom walking back in the room with several of the technicians around him. The room has gotten quiet as all eyes are on Tom. He walks to me first, giving me a quick kiss before walking towards the bell. I take out my phone getting the camera ready to get a video of him, another distraction, as he finally rings that bell! Tom rings the bell three times and the room erupts into a loud cheer. Tom says “yay!” and he walks to hug me and kiss me again. Everyone is offering their congratulations and hugging him and me and all control is lost, the tears are falling.