Being a veteran now of CT scans, my Friday September 9 appointment was a noninvasive procedure to check the status of my lymphoma after three rounds of chemotherapy.
The scan would be done at Branson Hospital, a satellite affiliate of North York General. Terry dropped me off at 8:45 am and continued on to visit her friend Sharon, a resident at the St. Bernard’s Convent. As I entered the hospital, I felt like I was walking into a stadium long after the game had been played. Once a busy hospital, Branson now operates with a skeleton staff in a much underused building.
I was directed to a waiting area where I promptly took out my Toronto Star crossword. I had scarcely begun when I heard someone say, “Did they try to change you?”
I ignored the voice as I couldn’t imagine anyone was talking to me.
“Did they try to change you?” I distinctly heard again.
Sitting about four metres to my right was a septuagenarian clutching her cane.
“Did they try to make you use your right hand in school?” she continued in a friendly and persistent manner.
“Not really,” I replied hesitantly.
Was this gal trying to pick me up? I know my chemo experience has aged me somewhat but had I lost 15 years in three months?
“Both my brothers are left handed too,” I replied, “and teachers did try to switch my brother Peter. They didn’t succeed but to this day, he’s a great ambidextrous painter.”
“I’m here for an x-ray of my knee”, she continued, seemingly uninterested in my brother’s experience. “It’s been acting up lately. Guess I’ve got to lose some weight. And what are you here for?” she continued invasively.
I had to put her off. “Oh, just a few tests,” I answered obliquely.
Mercifully, my name was called and my speed date was over. Terry later offered that many women handle stressful situations with idle chatter and that granny really wasn’t putting the moves on me.
I was directed to a waiting room by a middle aged nurse with a friendly smile and an efficient manner. I changed into hospital greens (why can’t they use Velcro to secure the backs of those gowns?) and then signed the requisite release form. The nurse noticed I had lymphoma and asked how it first presented. She listened with interest and then revealed that her dad had just been diagnosed with lymphoma as well.
“He’s 68 and he’s really struggling with his diagnosis. His skin became jaundiced a few weeks ago and doctors discovered his chest is full of tumours.”
“He must take comfort in the fact that you’re a nurse,” I interjected.
“He does but he’s still finding it so hard to accept. He’s always been a healthy man,” she replied. “His treatment hasn’t started. We are awaiting biopsy results.”
That sounded so familiar.
“Is your dad a religious man?” I continued, thinking that I might give her my blog address. Surely my experience could be of some help to him.
“No, he’s not,” she responded.
“I guess he’ll just have to lean on family,” I replied meekly.
A few moments later, I was off for the scan. As I lay waiting for the picture taking to begin, I was bothered that I hadn’t made a credible effort to pass along my web information. Had I dismissed her dad because he wasn’t religious? Did I not think my blog could help her dad in some way? Had the Cowardly Lion reemerged?
No one lights a lamp and hides it in a jar or puts it under a bed.
Instead, he puts it on a stand, so that those who come in can see the light.
Luke 8:16
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