An Image in my Mind

[Justina]

It's 6:15 am here. I had my chemo treatment yesterday and either the steriods have kicked in big time...or the fact that I was knocked out in bed by 7:30 pm has me awake. Wired awake. Wih a burden on my chest to release. I have to release it some where and tears are going to fall as I type, but I share so much with you all, I feel I must share this. Mind you....it's a rough draft, I feel I can't control the speed my fingers are typing at so please pardon and typos, incomplete sentences or punctuation. I'm spilling this all before I have a chance to pass it by my editor Paula, my sis...so again apologies.

Yesterday in the doctor's office I was walking back from the bathroom and saw a ptient being wheeled out. I only saw the person, a young man, grandson of patient I assumed pushing. I jumped up to get the huge double doors to make passing easier for them both.
As I stood there, trying to put a smile on my face, as I saw exactly who was being pushed out. Ms. M (we'll say). She is an older woman, very dignified, very well to do, and very deep in my heart. The first day I met Ms M was a normal chemo treatment day for me. My doctor has gotten in the habit is it's a patient with stage IV metastacized cancer of having them either sit next to me, or directing me to them. I put on the winning smile. The smile when I worked for Estee Lauder said Welcome, Let me make you feel at home, let me take your worries away, I am here to help you.
When I worked for Estere Lauder, that smile got me much larger commission and bonus checks. Now it gets me piece of mind knowing that I am helping someone else, enlarging my circle of fellow stage IV patients, and giving me some pice of mind that I can help soneone else with this disease as many times I too have been helped (thank you Nancy.)
WEll, come to find out as I settled in my chair. Ms. M was all I first assumes. Except hiding behind huge large dark glasses I was unable to grasp the fear deeply hiding there. For myself I hve no fear od my disease. I don't have the time to fear something that I was handed to live with. Ok, it';s now part of my daily routine. Until I saw her yesterday.
Ms. M explained to me that she was a patient at Sloan Kettering Memorial Hospital...supposedly the best cancer hospital in the northeast. Well, I don't go there. There it is a chop shop meat market of cancer patients. Rarely do you see the same oncologist and all too quickly do they throw you away saying no more treatments for you unless they feel tey can set a presidence with your case.
She unfortunately was one of the one's told this. She had also heard that Dr. Bhardwaj...now our oncologist treat stage IV metastasized breast cancer very agressively and rarely gives up on a patient. Her's had mutatued from her skeletal system to her lungs and brain. And yet Dr. Bhardwaj felt that he could give her some comfort and hopefully slow down progression using Taxol and Avastin. The same two drugs I am on.
Over the next few months, you could see that she started to perk up...overall feeling better, but her fear still sat heavy, niftily hidden behind those large dark glasses.
About a month ago...me in one of my not in the mood for anything moods....I sat getting my treatment. Another patient who also talked to everyone, who never let anything get to her, proclaimed to the nurses "Where is Ms. M today? Is she off a week?" The nurse replied, "Well, she's done with her treatments." The other patient, always in a state of bliss, exclaimed "Well good for her. We have a winner." Now me being in the mood I was in, just stared at the nurse. MY mouth sat agap and I could not find words to even question the statements just made. Not that the nurse would tell me anything, especially in front of all the other patients sitting there.
But I know her diagnosis. I know her stage level, I know what Sloan Kettering told her. I know the fear she had. I know that that phrase "Well, she's down with her treatments." is not something to jump up and clap for. It is not something you say hip hip horray, send a dozen of ballons for. It's horrible.
It's horrible. It's what every stage IV patient lays at night, thinks about. Thinks about when it will be my turn. When will I have to get my arrangements made, when will my family suddenly hit hospice mode instead of ordinary caregiver and when will I know that I only have a shiort time left here on this earth. I've done it, I do not know of any other stage IV patient who hasn't done it. Regardless of how positive you push yourself to be. It's there. Hiding. Just not all of us have largde dark glasses to hide it behind like Ms. M.
Well, yesterday, I saw Ms. M. She saw me and grabbed my hand as her grandson pushed her slowly past me. I could hear her pulling very heavbily from her oxyen tank, connected to her chair. And she just grabbed my hand. No words said by either of us. She just grabbed my hand. I couldn't even mumble yuour welcome to the mumbled thank you uttered from her grandson. I don't think I even breathed. I just held her hand.
I cam still feel her holding my hand. I can still see her, her flesh on her legs and lower arms, hanging. Her face so pale. The sound of her pulling off that oxygen tank. I've been living with this damn disease for 3 years. June 13th marked my anniverssary if you will. She has hadf it for only a year and a half. She has four grandchildren. A son and a daughter. An ex-husband who when he found out she was diagnosised with this, stepped up and helped out when and how he could. She had a very good job as a paralegal in Manhatten. She had things more than worth living for. But now she's done with her treatments.
I have Espi and Taurus. My sis Paula, her husband, and yes other siblings. My beautiful and gifted and funny neice. Wonderful friends. I had an excellant job with Estee Lauder. And I have the feel of Ms. m's hand in mine.
I do not know if I'll see her again, here...I'm not sure if I could handle it. My smile though is waiting for the next patient at my dcotor's office whom I get directed to sit next to. My smile yesterday was shown to Ms. M...even though it was after her chair had passed me, after her daughter nodded at me, after it was too late for her to see it.
This weekend I am heading down to New Jersey to celebrate the fourth with friends of mine. While I'm there I think I'll find myself my own pair of large dark glasses. Not so much to hide behind, but just to remember by, just like I'll remember Ms Ms's hand in mine.

[Paula]

Dear Justy,

Another heart felt writing. Your sister is very proud of you.

Love,

Paula