The waiting rooms of a cancer center are rooms of many stories that are all different but also all the same. 

We sit, waiting for our names to be called for a poison to be put in our bodies to fight this disease that decides to capture or take over our bodies. We don’t know what the future holds for us. We look at each other with uncertainty. Some of us come in and sit down with “uncertain” confidence because we’ve done this before. It’s not our first rodeo and is not probably going to be our last. We will finish one treatment to start another.  For some patients, it’s their first time getting chemo. You can tell from the fear in their eyes, the look they give all of us sitting around the room. They want to ask questions but they’re afraid. They don’t know it’s their last moment of being in a normal and healthy body. Their body is never going to be a typical body again. 

The families of patients sit with smiles on their faces to show support for their loved ones, but you can tell under that smile is fear, anger, and questions of why? They sit there and pray that their loved ones make it through this. With tears rolling down their cheeks, they say, “It’s not fair because there are worse people who’ve done bad things, but the good people get cancer.” 

It’s always the good people. 

I see some who can barely stand, just sitting there lifeless. They are still fighting and praying to make it one more holiday, birthday, or fall. They just want to live. People in the waiting room stare aimlessly at the floor waiting just for a miracle, an answer, financial help, something positive in their life. The look they have on their faces are all the same…hopeless. Well, I don’t know if the look is hopeless. Maybe it’s just tired. 

I do see some hope though– when I hear the bell ring when people finish that final treatment of chemo. They’ve made it through those long, terrible, painful treatments. It’s an accomplishment that he or she should be so proud of because some people can’t complete it. Also, I see hope in shirts. People wear shirts that support their friends and family. The shirts bring joy and strength to everyone to keep up the fight and to keep up the support no matter what. The cancer waiting room is just a flock of people who have the same problem, but with different stories and widely different walks of life. I look around and see it and wonder what they have gone through and wonder… I wonder what type of life brought them to this waiting room. I wonder if they lived a fun and cultured life or a strict and structured life. Do they have regrets or aspirations still to accomplish? Sometimes I wish to start conversations with them, but I’m afraid to. Maybe someday. But we all have one thing in common. We are all fighting the same demon we call cancer!