Cancer is a lump in one's throat and the fear when told the diagnosis. It causes you to leave your dignity, modesty and self-esteem in the hospital parking lot. Cancer is the bitter disappointment that Maddie was turned away at the QEH door due to the H1N1 visitor restrictions. This survivor spontaneously traveled from Sussex, New Brunswick to offer her smile and optimism.
Cancer is the last meal before your surgery – broth that was hot water in a cup with a chicken waved twice very lightly over it from five feet on high. It is feeling sorry for a nurse searching for a vein to put an IV line in. It is getting angry at the IV pump. No matter what you do with your arm – except leaving in perfectly still, it sets the alarm off over and over again.
Cancer is a drug-induced nightmare so vivid that you pee your pants and soak your bedding with sweat and tears. Once I realized our dog was not lying beside the bed, homesickness had me beg for the family photo to be brought in to sit on the windowsill.
Cancer is looking forward to the daily designated QEH rest period at 1:30 only to have someone operate a loud floor polisher outside the door. It is witnessing the disorientation of another caused by a high fever and being mistaken for his son.
Cancer is feeling for hospital staff when they leave at the end of their shift after dealing with a family's temper suffering with a loss. It is losing your appetite to the point where the thought of ingesting food has the appeal of strolling through the middle of a manure pile.
Cancer is the blow realizing you are not as emotionally strong or physically fit as you feel you should be. It is the panic straining to reach the buzzer for help in the washroom before you collapse and break something. It is the gratitude for the three nurses who came to the rescue.
Cancer is flowing tears of joy catching raindrops and cool air on one's face while being wheeled out of a hot building into a waiting ambulance. It is the emotion when the EMS attendant tells you the same ambulance is crossing the Souris bridge and you are almost at the Souris Hospital.
Cancer is embarrassing yourself in front of your best friend's wife – a nurse, by vomiting all over the washroom. An earlier incident at the QEH caught the floor, wall, garbage can, bedding, a nurse's shoes and clothing.
Cancer is being grateful for every minute Alan Beck spent visiting and for his prayer afterwards. It was an opportunity to vent and to have peaceful thoughts for several hours afterwards. It is gratitude that your roommates are conversationalists and interesting people. Cancer is thinking about them every day since I got home.
Cancer is scrubbing yourself and struggling to get hospital odours washed out in the laundry as soon as possible after you get home. It is receiving positive attention from prayer warriors, emails, facebook messages, phone calls, chats on skype, letters and cards after you get home. You are not alone.
Cancer is loss. Is there a household in Eastern Kings that has not had to struggle? It is expensive, time consuming and in everyone's face. It is a fight that crosses all emotions. Cancer will be beaten with support and hope.
Waldron's surgery was successful. He is aware the cancer could return, but is thankful he does not require additional treatment. Waldron is a broadcaster, historian, photographer, web developer and writer based in Kingsboro. His interests are a wide range of topics which may be displayed on the sites he develops, including www.ekpei.ca. He can be reached at whleard@ekpei.ca