Cancer Journal #3 Dec 7

        It’s VIP parking at the Mayo Clinic Cancer Center with parking slots a few steps from the door. Speaks more to our presumed physical condition than our importance I suppose but it’s handy, especially if I am running late. The accommodation is not meant for me, at least not right now. In fact, I feel great. I’d never know there was anything wrong with me if they hadn’t told me. Still, the parking is handy.

     Inside, people in the waiting room are not doing great. Mostly they are old. A few young ones that I really feel bad for. A woman in her 20s with a slow, unsteady gait and not much light in her eyes. I hope her condition is curable and that this will just be a bad episode in a fully lived life.

     I don’t visit with those who are waiting although that would be my natural tendency. We are all masked and social distanced which inhibits conversation. And then, talk loud enough to be heard would be jarring in a totally quiet room. But beyond that, there’s no looking around or eye contact that would invite a chat. The patients are pretty much self-enclosed. 

     That’s a pity, I think. It would be nice to have a community of the unfortunates. Draw support from those with a shared diagnosis, perhaps make a mordant joke which would be inappropriate from someone who is well. However, I don’t know, even then, that I could really pull off being a member of the sick bunch. My step is brisk and my manner is chipper and alert. I would feel mildly fraudulent trying to do cancer ridden. If they gave out cancer cards, I’d take one. Otherwise, I fear I would not be accepted. That could change. We’ll see.