and then there was this
I get a voicemail telling me to check my email. An appointment with one of my heroes, Dr. Jones, has been cancelled.
"Her cancer has come back further and faster than was expected..."
My eyes cloud with tears. No, I say to God, and turn away from my laptop to look at the oaks outside my window, trying to unread these words.
Ever since I have known this woman, she has lived with cancer. My routine appointments with her were less about how I was doing (which has been more than fine) and more about her journey with cancer.
"I like your hair," I say, walking into her small dark office during a recent appointment, flopping down on her couch.
"It's a wig," she laughs."So much easier than trying to do something with the hair I have."
This launches into a discussion about wigs on the east side of Austin, the price of wigs today, and a hint she may have bought a blue (or pink) wig.
We talk about her scheduling chemo that coincides with the time eyelashes and eyebrows are at their minimum growth state, in order to preserve what she has. She is a pro at having cancer.
This caregiver always has a smile on her face, the kind of smile that makes you smile and want to stay more, and has an iron will behind it. A smile I could count on. A smile that has seen more than its share of frowns and tears and numbness.
We talk about her almost-grown children. We joke about raising teenagers. We have a camaraderie.
"You are always doing well, Anne." Words I need to hear.
I tell I self-published a little book of essays that are/were being sold on consignment at BookPeople. How if she hadn't been my doctor to help me out of the frightening dark place I lived in, it would not exist. I thanked her. She replied with enthusiasm saying she needed to get it. How encouraging it was to her to hear that.
I don't know if she ever did buy it. I never brought her a copy. I know it definitely won't happen now.
"Dr. Jones isn't doing so well..." her assistant half whispers into the phone, her voice trailing off, saying the words we all knew were coming, but had hoped not to hear for a long, long time.
Thank you for taking my scared late night calls to your personal number. For trying lots and lots of options, for fighting for me and being a voice of reason when I wanted fast answers. You will always be my hero, Dr. Jones. You have my heart and constant prayer as you are the thought I come to many times in the day. I hope for any brief meeting we may have before you go. Or, even better, seeing you looking terrifically fierce and making Jesus laugh on the bright side.
xo, Dr. Jones, always.
"Her cancer has come back further and faster than was expected..."
My eyes cloud with tears. No, I say to God, and turn away from my laptop to look at the oaks outside my window, trying to unread these words.
Ever since I have known this woman, she has lived with cancer. My routine appointments with her were less about how I was doing (which has been more than fine) and more about her journey with cancer.
"I like your hair," I say, walking into her small dark office during a recent appointment, flopping down on her couch.
"It's a wig," she laughs."So much easier than trying to do something with the hair I have."
This launches into a discussion about wigs on the east side of Austin, the price of wigs today, and a hint she may have bought a blue (or pink) wig.
We talk about her scheduling chemo that coincides with the time eyelashes and eyebrows are at their minimum growth state, in order to preserve what she has. She is a pro at having cancer.
This caregiver always has a smile on her face, the kind of smile that makes you smile and want to stay more, and has an iron will behind it. A smile I could count on. A smile that has seen more than its share of frowns and tears and numbness.
We talk about her almost-grown children. We joke about raising teenagers. We have a camaraderie.
"You are always doing well, Anne." Words I need to hear.
I tell I self-published a little book of essays that are/were being sold on consignment at BookPeople. How if she hadn't been my doctor to help me out of the frightening dark place I lived in, it would not exist. I thanked her. She replied with enthusiasm saying she needed to get it. How encouraging it was to her to hear that.
I don't know if she ever did buy it. I never brought her a copy. I know it definitely won't happen now.
"Dr. Jones isn't doing so well..." her assistant half whispers into the phone, her voice trailing off, saying the words we all knew were coming, but had hoped not to hear for a long, long time.
Thank you for taking my scared late night calls to your personal number. For trying lots and lots of options, for fighting for me and being a voice of reason when I wanted fast answers. You will always be my hero, Dr. Jones. You have my heart and constant prayer as you are the thought I come to many times in the day. I hope for any brief meeting we may have before you go. Or, even better, seeing you looking terrifically fierce and making Jesus laugh on the bright side.
xo, Dr. Jones, always.
- Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide;When other helpers fail and comforts flee,Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me.