The Waiting Room

Cancer strikes old people.  We all know this because we sit in the waiting room at our oncologist's office, and we are surrounded by old people.  We see old people in orthopedic shoes.  We see old people in sweat pants and diabetic socks.   We hear conversations that go something like this, "I have lived a good, long life, so if cancer gets me in the end, so be it."  

Then there is us.

I am sitting in the waiting room in full make-up.  I am wearing my cancer-kicking cow-girl boots.  I have on skinny-jeans and I am drinking a latte (even though I know that I should not be drinking caffeine or dairy).  I am talking with my husband or my friend about the cute things the kids have done lately.  I look around, and  I have to accept that I am one of those rare statistical anomalies---I got cancer at a young age.  I page through the "Cancer Today" magazine on the coffee table, and realize that there are no articles pertinent to me because I am young.  I look up and realize that people are staring at me, undoubtedly wondering why I am there. 

The thing is, young cancer warriors (like us) are awesome and we have different needs, both large and small.

For example, Minnesota Oncology in Minneapolis (612-884-6300) has some great oncologists, but the waiting room sucks. It fact, the whole facility sucks.   It is dingy and hospital-like.  If  I have to go to chemo, can't it look like a Juut salon?  I want aromatherapy and someone offering me tea.   Where's the Starbucks cart?  The healthy snacks?  The massage chairs?  The People magazines?  The privacy?  I put up with it only because I liked my oncologist so much, but it was depressing nonetheless.  

It is time to start a young cancer warrior revolution.