Just One Day . . .

Yesterday I spent just one day seeing what my mom and dad do every day for my dad's cancer treatment. It was a sobering experience for me and I was too sad to write about it yesterday. But today I have to write - because I am so in awe of them and the other people I met yesterday.

This is what my dad does while my mom drives the one hour trek (in Washington D.C. rush hour traffic) each morning to the hospital. I've always thought his ability to sleep anywhere was a gift. Now I think it might have been given to him specifically for this time in his life! The traffic is messy and the Queen Vee attacks it like a warrior. All the while - and for the benefit of both of them- my dad sleeps with his special red blankie and his stocking cap pulled over his eyes as a makeshift sleeping mask.

This is the National Naval Medical Center in Bethesda, Maryland, where my dad has his treatment each day. It is a gigantic hospital complex with multiple buildings. This picture doesn't do it justice, but the whole thing wouldn't fit in my camera's view finder anyway. After passing under the above sign, we wound our way around corridors and down stairs into the dungeon where Radio Oncology was.

We entered a nondescript waiting room where my mom greeted people like they were old friends. I went back to the radiation room with my dad. There I actually watched them strap this hulking man onto the table to get his radiation. I kissed him on the forhead right before they put his mask on (see here) and pledged to make him a new "Fight the Cancer" mixed CD so he wouldn't have to listen to the awful elevator muzak they were playing anymore. Then I left him there and felt like a lame daughter who'd left her dad in a torture chamber. It really made my heart sink.

Out in the waiting room my mom had begun her daily ritual of thumbing through outdated magazines and striking up conversations with her new cancer spouse friends. I met Reno from Sardinia, Italy, whose wife Cynthia has been battling breast cancer for 16 years. He was a jolly Italian fellow who loves a good hamburger. When Cynthia came in, with her sweet, bald head in a hat, she exclaimed what an absolutely wonderful day it was! She was a positive ray of sunshine.

I met Maurice, who is a retired Naval photographer. He's fighting brain cancer and only had three days of radiation left. He was accompanied by his daughter and talked about how grateful he was that she was taking care of him. Other people came and went, and as they did, I wondered what type of cancer they were dealing with and who was there to support them.

The last person I met was my dad's radio oncologist, Dr. Dulgey (I'm sure I've spelled it wrong - it's German.) Here he is with my dad after examining the painful sores that have taken over his mouth. This doctor, who looked about 12 or 13 years old, scruffed the hair on the back of my dad's head and gave him a tender pat on the back. He read my dad's blog and commented about how funny it was. He seemed sincere and real to me, and I thanked him for taking care of my dad. He was hesitant to have his picture taken, for fear my dad might use it on his blog and make funny comments, but I just want to say thank you to him and all the nurses and technicians who are trying to help my dad through a really, really tough time.

This was just one day for me. But it's every day for my parents and these other people. And I am in awe of them. Pray for my dad and mom.