Yesterday...
Walking back to my suite, I almost missed her -
the petite, elderly woman attached to the familiar pump.
Eager to get on with my treatment, I barely detected the sadness in her eyes, as she ignored the images on the television screen.
I recognized the stare.
"Are you okay?" I asked. "Are you here by yourself?"
She told me that she was and that her daughter would be arriving later.
Then she looked at me,
I mean, really looked at me.
"You have cancer?" she whispered, in an almost disbelief.
I responded, "I like to say I HAD cancer. But I'm in treatment now, just like everyone else here."
She smiled, woolen knitted cap crooked on her head,
beaded cross, dangling from here neck.
We connected.
We chatted a few minutes - about my head cover, my cancer, her cancer, Jesus.
She shared that hers was terminal.
I knew it wasn't good. A friend of mine died a couple of years ago from pancreatic cancer.
Lenora reminded me of Juanita.
I needed to say something,
just not that.
Instead I spoke to her in truth, "If you know Jesus, you know the right one. Keep doing what you're doing."
She promised to keep fighting.
I told her I would be there and would check on her later.
I did stop by her suite on my way out, but she was alone and asleep.
Her daughter had not yet arrived.
I found some comfort in knowing that I might see her again next Friday for round seven.
God bless those who fight the good fight.
God bless Ms. Lenora.
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