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| Willamette Valley Cancer Institute |
On a chilly Friday afternoon, I decided to go downtown to pick up three books the library was holding for me. As I traversed the crosswalk from Marquis to the bus stop on the other side of the road, I noted someone already seated there. Getting closer, I saw a pair of blue sweatpants sticking out into the sidewalk - one leg strapped into a black brace. Approaching the figure, I said in a friendly manner, “Looks like you have a bum leg.” A dark curly head nodded slightly from the figure’s chest. Passing carefully so my cane would not bump his leg, I said, “Been there.”
As I read the posted bus schedule and checked the time on my phone, I noticed that my companion for the ten-minute wait was in fact a young Black man. “Have you been waiting long?” elicited a nod and a mumble, “I’ve been here since 8:00 this morning.” Puzzled, I said, “Waiting for the bus?” The figure stirred and a youthful, brown-skinned face with sorrowful eyes lifted from the sagging chest. “I’m waiting for my ride.”
Having forgotten to put my hearing aids in, I went closer. “Oh, you’re not waiting for the bus?”
With a shake of his head the young man sat up straighter, saying “I’m tired.” He pulled his clothing slightly down to reveal his right upper chest. I saw a metal ring swimming in reddish medicine and a piece of deteriorating surgical tape. “They put in a port and today is the first time they used it.”
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| Chemotherapy Port |
Instantly I knew, since we were immediately in front of Willamette Valley Cancer Institute, that he had just come from his maiden chemotherapy session. I looked into his eyes and said, “You’re going to make it!” Pointing to the cancer center, I said, “They know what they’re doing. You’re going to make it.” He was startled. Then I pointed to Marquis and continued, “I live over there because I come over here (pointing to WVCI) once a month for treatment.”
Stirring himself on the bench, he announced, “Here comes my ride.” I looked up to see a beige older model car make a U turn and drive up to the curb. A Black woman was at the wheel, speaking to someone in the back seat. A tall man, a bit older than my waiting companion, emerged and began walking around the car.
My companion had already gotten himself into the passenger seat. As the door closed, I said, “I’ve been dealing with cancer since 1997. You’re going to make it.”
The tall man seated himself in the back as the port-wounded young man lowered the car window. His eyes were glowing. He was smiling. He was a picture of intelligence and grace. Indeed, he was a handsome dude! Pulling away from the curb, he called, “You have a great rest of your day!”
“You, too.” I replied.
A week later I realized. “I’ve been dealing with cancer since before that young man was born.”
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| Heros Are Here |
