Cancer is like a state—a state of confusion or the state of Florida, which sometimes can be a state of confusion. People move from state to state to find a state of bliss, but at a certain point they stop moving because the money runs out or their health runs out. Then they’re stuck with the state they’re in. It doesn’t do any good to complain because they’re stuck with it.
That doesn’t the person must like it, and he or she has a right to air an opinion without being accused of being ungracious or ungrateful.
Which brings up the topic of chemotherapy rooms in oncology centers. The staff is doing the best it can, considering the circumstances. However , if truth be told, the rooms are too noisy for patients to endure while having liquid pain drip into their bodies. Every time an IV bag empties a buzzer goes off. And then another. And another. Only one attendant to answer all of three. These buzzers are all off key and make lousy harmony.
The staffers, bless their hearts, thin if they tell loud jokes and guffaw, it will make the patient feel better. It doesn’t. On one particular day a male staffer (you may read into the gender identification anything you want) announced that it was National Beer Day and he couldn’t wait to leave work to celebrate. He got into a conversation with one man who was in the middle of being disconnected from his tubes. They argued good-naturedly about the best kinds of beer—lager, on tap, malted, etc.
My wife has never cared for beer in the first place. Making the situation worse was the fact the chemotherapy at that moment was making her nauseous.
“If you keep talking about beer I’m going to throw up!” she announced.
Unfortunately there were four or five buzzers going off at the time, and they didn’t hear her.