What gets you through the hoops
"What does it matter if the cancer is in your bones?" she asked. "It isn't like it will change your treatment. It will just make you have more hard information."
I tell her the truth. I just need to know. I want to know where it is. I want to be able to picture it in my mind so that I can picture it shrinking. It's probably futile. I'm not stupid. This cancer is here to stay and it will kill me. It is not a battle that I will win. If it is in my bones, that just means that it will probably move faster.
I just want to know. It's my body. I want to know.
T sighs. Accepts. She has said from the beginning that this is my journey and that her role is simply to make it as easy for me as she can. She is that good. No matter if she had a hard day at work or her back hurts. I come first. I'm still sort of stunned at my luck in having her.
I have to go in early to get the tracer inserted into my bloodstream. This involves....good hell yes.....being stuck. I pick up my yellow citrine, a Christmas gift from C and K. It goes with me to all my lab treatments. Citrine is not known for its healing properties. It is more known to help with the creative process and to draw abundance to the one holding it. But, for some reason, citrine just likes me. It tends to shimmer and shiver in my hand. It cleaves close. I feel everything in me calm when I hold citrine. So, I began taking it with me whenever I had to get blood drawn. So far, so good. I have not once had to have the phlebotomy team stick me when I have had my citrine in my pocket.
So, I bring it with me. I also bring a half of a scapular, too. T slips it into my pocket at the last minute.
"It was my Dad's," she says. "Indulge me?"
I do.
As I sit in the waiting room, I look around me. It is packed. This might take a while. I take out my citrine and the scapular and run them through my fingers.
"What's those things?" A piping little voice interrupts me. It is a small boy. A rather dirty boy with a snot bubble going in and out of his nose as he breathes. I smile at him. Show him the citrine first.
"This is a stone called a citrine," I tell him.
He asks me if it is a boy stone or a girl stone. I look down at it, curious. Tell him that I'm not sure. What does he think?
"I don't know," he says. "Probably a girl. It looks girly."
I nod. It does.
"Can I have it?" he asks. I tell him no. That it belongs with me. He doesn't get bratty about it. I suspect that he hears no a lot.
He points to the scapular, asks what it is. I tell him. He asks who the man is on it. I tell him.
"My Auntie has pictures of that guy all over her house," he shares. I nod. I know several "Aunties."
"So, how do you play with them?" he asks me. I am puzzled and then I realize that he thinks I have brought them the way that other kids bring a toy to play with. I tell him that they aren't toys. They are called talismans.
"I bring them because they make me feel safe, I suppose," I tell him.
This time, it is he who nods. He understands the need to feel safe in this place. He points to my hat.
"Are you bald under there? Lots of people who wear hats here are bald underneath."
I take my hat off and he and I both laugh. Yeah. Pretty much bald. Or balding....
"You are a good guesser," I tell him. I am starting to wonder where this kid's parent is. No one has come up to shoo him away from me. So, I just ask him. He points to a dozing old woman in a chair.
"Are you here to get zapped?" he says. "I get zapped here all the time."
I start to answer when a nurse comes out and calls my name. I stand up and gather up my things.
"Hey, what is your name?" I ask the kid.
He says his name is Billy. Or maybe Willy.
"Have a good day, kiddo," I say.
"Bye, Citrine," he says. I hold up the citrine and wave it at him.
When I go in, the nurse gets me on the second stick. Not bad. Now, I have to leave for two hours and then come back for the bone scan. When I go out into the waiting room, the little kid is gone.
I hope his zapping session went well. I really do.
I reach into my pocket and squeeze my citrine. Rub it back and forth between my thumb and forefinger as I walk to the parking lot.
Waiting rooms are such lonely places. I am glad to have my citrine....and Billy. Or Willy. Whichever.
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