Over the past six weeks, I have spent a lot of time in the Radiation waiting area at the Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. (This is my first prolonged exposure to cancer treatment in my life. My paternal grandmother, Anna Park Colla, died of cancer, but I was only about ten at that time, and barely aware that she was ill. She lived in Connecticut; we were in Philadelphia).
Patients come to the Radiation Center, usually for an extended series of treatments. In Nadine’s’ case, it was every weekday for six weeks. Some come alone, but many come escorted by family members or friends, who wait with them, and then wait alone while the patient has his or her treatment. It usually takes about 25 minutes from the time the patient goes into one of the radiation treatment rooms, until they come back out. Often they are on schedule, but sometimes late, so we can end up in the waiting area for an hour or more. Some just sit, others read, and others are using their smart phones. Some strike up conversations with others.
Most of the patients are on a regular daily schedule. In our case, it was 10:30AM, every weekday. So, I often got to see the same patients and the same escorts on many days. I was struck by the variety of people who are undergoing radiation for cancer: old mostly, but young too; one little girl is seven. Rich and middle class and poor. Tall and short, heavy and skinny. Male and female. White, black, Hispanic, and Asian. Some come with canes or walkers or wheelchairs, or in gurneys. The one thing they all have in common is radiation treatments for cancer.
One older man was getting extra “VIP" attention. There is a Cedars employee whose job it to see that these patients get whatever they need. When I joked if it was OK that he flirted with the nurse, he explained that “his wife was on the Board”.
Another older man, Boris, was born in Kiev; his family fled to Kyrgyzstan during WWII, then came back. Boris speaks very limited English, mostly just single words. We found out we could have a conversation, of sorts, using the Translate app on my iPhone. It translates spoken speech in both directions, spitting out the spoken sentence in the other language. The various patient information posters on the walls are often in English, Spanish, Russian and Farsi.
Many are quiet and stoic, reading their papers or looking at their smart phone screens.
Some are optimistic and cheerful. One man was is finishing his treatments during our last week there, and retiring the same day, and is looking forward to moving to San Diego County with his wife.
Some are annoying and self-centered. Cell phones are the instrument to exhibit their problems to us all. One man was having a long and loud conversation on his cell phone: “She is trying to get me to marry her, and she is after my money”. The rest of us began to smile at each other, as he was disturbing us all. I finally turned to him and putting my forefinger to my lips, and uttered a “Shhh”. He barked out at me: “I’m deaf”, pointing to his ear. Finally the waiting room attendant came and asked him to move to a remote corner of the area. A middle-aged lady argued on her cell phone with a retailer. “I have been a good customer for years, and I will not be treated this way.” Again, this was a very loud conversation that we all could hear.
The seven-year-old girl was a breath of fresh air, talking and running around and trying to engage with the adults, most of whom are quiet, often looking at their cell phones or tablets.
The one thing they all have in common is radiation treatments for cancer.
