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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 |
3 comments:
This made me tear up. I’m so glad you talked to him and said that. I’m sure it will be in the back of his mind many times in his future. I’m so glad you are both persevering!
Thanks, LiDona, for telling this story, a wonderful transmission of healing energy. This is where the magic we need happens--at the hands and hearts of other humans.
While I'm less clear about experiences that are "unlikely to ever be duplicated," I am confident that even the most accessible of similar experiences remain utterly unique for those who encounter them. Last night, after receiving your email and invitation earlier in the day, I was enjoying the sunset with a fellow community member at the Litibu EcoVillage. This occurs three or four times a week at the end of the day and has become something of a regular practice for us. While the conversations are unplanned, they often spin into small reflections that leave us immersed in the awesomeness of life. Last night illustrates this.
"How lucky we are to be able to view this," he said as we watched the sun settle into the Pacific, "evening after evening." It was indeed a very colorful and beautiful sunset, and he was 100% correct, but then added a follow-up: "it's difficult to think that anything could ever match this." Well, I thought to myself, this is indeed very nice but he's obviously never been to Victoria Falls! At the Rainbow Inn, I'd sit on the banks of the Zambezi River, with snorting hippos and lurking crocodiles nearby, to watch the sun gradually sink into the mist of the falls that were only two hundred yards downstream.
Rather than challenge his assertion, I casually began to share some of my memories of Vic Falls: the sunsets for sure but also the incredible deep gorges, the bungee jumps, and, perhaps most memorable of all, the white water rafting. My friend and I typically take turns calmly listening to one another while enjoying the manner in which the sunset seems to always slow down the pace of things. When I mentioned that I had written a reflection about my first white water voyage on the Zambezi over 35 years ago, he asked that I send it to him. I did after he returned to his casita next door but not before I re-read it for myself. It continues to capture the special uniqueness of that moment, and in doing so, regardless of how similar other trips have been, reminds me that this 1987 experience was indeed something never to be duplicated.
You need not feel obligated to read it but, from decades past, I'll send you an email with my reflection about the white water of the Zambezi.
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