She was gray. Completely. Her hair. Likely prematurely, given the bright and vivacious appearance of her mother who had driven her to the vaccination site. Her eyes. Once, they must have been mesmerizing; sparkling when she smiled. Today they were flat, resigned, without luster. Her skin. Sickly, coarsened, vaguely damp. Her t-shirt. Fashion clearly no longer mattered. Her tee had been chosen that morning because it was softened, almost thread bare, from many washings and sat easier than other garments on a frame that ached deep within her bones and burned like fire on the surface of her skin.
I was called to her car that morning due as much to the alarm her appearance and history caused among the nurses there to administer the vaccine, as to answer her questions.
"Hello."
"Yes, mam."
Capecitabine. Oxaliplatin. Colon cancer. Between treatments.
Information exchanged. History completed. Answers, sorely limited in scope, given to the best of my ability. Nurses advised to proceed with administration.
As I walked back through the waiting cars, attaining a thumbs up from the occupants, I met the nurse with whom I worked, doing the same.
"I gave a 30 minute wait to a gray Chevy. The passenger is in the midst of chemo. If she feels faint, no cold compress or beverage."
A quizzical look. "Okay," he said.
"Given the drugs she's taking, contact with cold items - within or without - can cause severe pain."
"I understand."
We parted to continue our rounds through the patients waiting in our lot.
It struck me as I walked away. Understanding is very much a matter of degree.
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I will not forget you, my dear. May color return to your world. ~ les
You have made innumerable worlds colourful
ReplyDeleteIf that is true, it is due to the rainbow of love and support I have been generously given.
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