Sitting here at Stanford Cancer Center waiting to be seen by my Oncologist. It's a beleaguered and world-weary group in this overcrowded waiting room. Half of them are wearing respirator masks, their immune systems weakened by toxic drugs or by the cancer itself, rendering them defenseless to communicable diseases. Some are bald from chemo, some are waiting in angst for the results of biopsies.
I sit here, sometimes for hours, waiting to be called for an appointment that I don't even want to go to. Every fifteen minutes I tell myself, "If they don't call me in the next three minutes I'm leaving". While waiting I invariably find myself playing a game: guess the disease. Some are more obvious than others. Man passing by in a wheelchair, a large three-sided incision across the top of his shaved scalp: brain cancer. As they have seperate mens and womens exam rooms I wonder to myself if he's crossed paths with Patrick Swayze, who's being treated here for pancreatic cancer.
ink artwork, Stanford
After two hours of waiting I've seen all of the artwork (they do have an impressive collection), read all of the old magazines, and even managed to eat lunch. It's a psychological roller coaster. I tell myself I don't belong here. I admit to myself that this is the reality, this is my new tribe. I feel sorry for myself, then I realize that many of these people deserve much more sympathy than I. This is the thought process in the waiting room at a cancer center. They try to make it a pleasant experience. They have plasma screens playing image loops of things like pristine mountain streams and perfect sunsets.
Marcel's photo of an orchid and architecture at Stanford
They even have a harp player. I can't shake the association of harps playing as one enters the pearly gates and I wonder if this is an appropriate instrument to feature at a cancer center (ha). They have free massage, which I couldn't take advantage of on this trip, being post-surgery I can't lay on my chest in the massage chair. They also have concierge service whereby a woman will breeze through the waiting rooms taking orders for coffee, tea, water, or hot cocoa. I saw hide nor hair of her today.
Marcel loves to photograph the flowers and duckies; Stanford
These are merely observations. I'm not complaining. I am grateful for all that I have. Truly.
I do have a complaint though! It has to do with "Pinkwashing". Please take the time to read these articles on the topic of poisonous companies and individuals using breast cancer as a means for profit.
Can Shopping Cure Breast Cancer (scroll down on that page), and many great articles on the Breast Cancer Action site found here: Think Before You Pink.
So Sylvie 
