Six Weeks Left

Check out this rad photo of me at the cancer ward.

I was visiting a friend while she was being treated with chemotherapy, and when she got up to use the restroom, I got in her chair to pose for this beautifully tacky picture. It would have been even more awesome if the IV and drip stand was in the shot, but my friend had to leave that all stuck in her arm and wheel it with her to the restroom. Boring!

I’ve got to say, the cancer ward is a pretty humorless place. In a room full of people undergoing chemotherapy, my friends and I were the only ones conversing and having a good time. I mean, if laughter’s the best medicine, I wouldn’t say many of the patients have a good prognosis.

Except for my friend. I’m pleased to report that the chemotherapy is, in fact, working in the way the doctors had hoped and the treatment is almost complete. We even got her to go out out earlier this week. On the car ride over, she said that she hadn’t seen or spoken to some of the friends we were meeting up with since before her diagnosis, so they probably weren’t aware of her health status. And given that her hair has fallen out and her complexion is paler, it’s not exactly something she can hide. “It’s all right,” she said. “I’ll just tell them that I have cancer, but that I only have six weeks left.”

There was a long pause. “’…Of treatment’, you mean,” I said. “You have to finish that statement with ‘six weeks left of treatment.’ If you just go in and say, ‘I only have six weeks left,’ it sounds like you’re about to die.” And that’s when the people in our car decided it would be best to just say “six weeks left” and watch the friends freak out momentarily. It seemed like the funniest joke ever! Or, you know, absolutely cruel and awful. Hmm, maybe there’s a reason the people at the cancer ward didn’t find us funny.