Standing in the elevator at River Bend Hospital in Springfield, a man across from me stands staring into space. I ask him a few questions only to discover his wife is upstairs dying of cancer.
My first thought is I’d like to get the hell out of this elevator. I don’t want to stand here but then more questions erupt from my throat as my heart says move on and my head says bolt.
I was visiting a friend, a new friend I met the other day at the Urology Clinic. He’s about my age and found out just a few days after me, that he too has Prostate Cancer. Instantly we had a connection. He had his surgery the other day. I met him for coffee last week.
When I walked into his room last night we hugged as if we’d known each other all of our lives. We sat and talked for more than an hour.
Cancer is a killer. Cancer is scary. Cancer is a disease. Cancer is something, as you read these words, you are glad that you do not have. But what I’m discovering is Cancer is also a connector.
As I left the guy in the elevator I handed him my card. He’s not from Oregon and has no connections to this place. I gave him a hug and at first he resisted. I said, Hey, I want a real hug and I squeezed this tough guy as hard as I could.
I’m not sure who needed that hug the most but as he walked away I saw how much he loved his wife, how much he needed a connection and how much human interaction can do to fight cancer. I saw all those things in a tear that puddle in his eye as he walked the other way.
Cancer sucks. Cancer is terrible. Cancer is something I’ll trade any of you right now. I mean it. But cancer is also giving me something I can’t attach a word to so I will just leave it at that. I’ll tell you what, as soon as I can define it, I will.
Rick
