Hoping Within Reality

Excerpt

Mr. Woodrick (not his real name) walked the halls of the cancer ward each morning with the pace of a man determined. With his brow furrowed and left arm swinging (the right preoccupied with an IV pole carrying cytarabine) he buzzed by our team as we rounded, making us smile. “Hey Docs,” he would exclaim with a smile and vigorous head nod. His gray hair was gelled tastefully, and he wore the perfect amount of cologne. The white New Balance sneakers he wore looked brand new and subtly squeaked with every other step. He would be willing to stop for a moment, if appropriate, but clearly had an agenda. His black windbreaker pants could be converted into shorts and he paired them with knit collared shirts of all colors. On rainy days, he wore a light gray pullover sweatshirt with no hood. It had the type of fraying at the top that announced a lifetime of usage, the type a trendy clothing store might try to replicate. It was obvious that he had given a lot of thought to what to pack for the hospital when his outpatient hematologist gave him the bad news. His wardrobe also led me to suspect that he was someone that had never been hospitalized—never converted to the hospital gown and booties, never removed from normal society. I knew he gave his hospital stay a lot of thought because he admitted to spending the night before his admission lying awake, nervous, in anticipation. Despite this, he approached his treatment with an open mind and eagerness. He took, and read, the patient information resources. He recorded his questions on a yellow legal pad and put on thick, black glasses to take notes during rounds. I had learned to enjoy his positive attitude and personality immensely over the past few days, even thinking to myself, “I hope I can be that positive if I ever get cancer.” …