They're Everywhere

I bump into cancer victims everyplace I go. Its almost as if I have some sort of radar that draws cancer people into conversations. Today I was at the Farmer's Market, scarfing up fresh peaches and blueberries, luscious ripe red tomatoes, the biggest green pepper I have ever seen, and wonderful yellow summer squash! With my new found toleration of cooked veggies, I am eager to indulge.



I was in a bit of a hurry because I was meeting in about ten minutes with the choir secretary to sort through files (the Farmer's Market is right at the church), but I wanted to get some flowers. At the very first table there were displays of marigolds, zinnias, sunflowers, sweet peas, dahlias, larkspur - such vivid colors and bold combinations. I deposited the heavy melon and fruits in my truck and went back to select a small bouquet for the kitchen table. The cheery flowers would brighten anyone's morning!



I wondered how the couple manning the table managed to do so much harvesting in the mornings before they set up. I could just imagine getting up while it was still dark and heading for the fields to collect produce to sell - cucumbers and spinach, swiss chard and pattypan squash. I could smell the pungence of their potted basil and the bunches of radishes were so enticing that I succumbed even though I doubt that I can tolerate eating them.



I drooled over all the flowers, trying to decide. Do I get three bright yellow sunflowers? Can I mix them with the lighter yellow sweet peas? Will the maroon zinnias work with the yellow? Do I want the three for a dollar mix and match or should I select one of the smaller already made up bouquets? Then of course, there were the special flowers on the main table, a bit pricier but well worth the investment. Decisions, decisions!



I finally settled on a small cheerful mix of bright reds and pinks, picking up the mayonnaise-jar-converted-to-water-vase and taking my place in line behind an elderly gentleman who kept adding things to his growing list of purchases. As the woman behind the table helped him select swiss chards and squashes, they chatted about work and business.



She looked at me, and with a wink, said she was asking her doctor for an energy prescription. The gentleman didn't seem to hear her comment, and she totalled up his order, mentioning again how tired she was and how she wasn't sure she could keep this up. The man counted out the amount, picked up his bags, and wandered off.



There we were, standing facing each other, somehow alone in the busy marketplace. She began telling me about her cancer and her chemo and how she longed for the good old 19 hour workdays. She desperately needed to talk. Why else would she blurt such things out to a total stranger? I listened quietly as the words gushed from her insides in no particular order. I understood.



Its totally unfair that she has to keep working while she is being treated for a life threatening disease. How can life be so cruel? And why doesn't anyone hear her pleas for help, her desperate fears? Where is her family, her grown children perhaps or a sister or two? Maybe even a Mom still? It takes way more than a village to help a cancer victim.



She finally slowed down and took a deep breath, tears rimming her eyes, threatening to escape at the least provocation. I wanted to hug her and tell her it would be OK, or at least that she was not alone. I recognized the old "family is in denial - pretend you aren't sick" thing. She stared at me, surprised by her own outburst. A look of relief spread over her face as I told her that I understood and that I had also battled one cancer and am now still dealing with another one. I told her about our website and some of the things we offer.



She gave me her business card with her email written on it. "Please send me your website," she whispered. Customers were starting to need attention. Her husband was waiting on several people and she had to get back to work. As she turned to assist a rather portly woman, I tucked her card in my pocket and gave her a parting smile. We find each other in the most ordinary places, we sisters of the Big C. We will meet again.