Here is yet another glimpse into my psyche (cancer-fueled or otherwise) through a confessional.
I always wanted to have some "retail establishment" where I felt like a regular. I would walk in (like Norm on Cheers), and all of the staff there would: know who I was, that my favorite drink was a cold seltzer (no ice), and that I was more than likely coming in for chicken parm over penne pasta.
At the CINJ infusion clinic they see so many patients: all day long, six days of the week. In the beginning of my initial rounds of Chemo, I came in two days a week for about three months. But that was almost two years ago. And I have been coming in for regular blood work every three weeks or so, but that's practically a drive-thru; I'm there for a mere few minutes and see the same lab tech each time. While keeping in mind that as of late, each time I do look a little different (sometimes with a Minnesota Twins baseball hat - and even those vary), my recognizable yet whitening red hair often covered, and now all the time with a mask on - so even more of my distinctive features (and mustache) are obscured. Plus I'm almost exclusively there on Saturdays, where the crew is more often than not a collection of rotating nurses who choose to work weekends, which is more than likely not their regular shift. So do I really come in that often (compared to others who need even more frequent treatments), that the staff would begin to recognize me?
I don't necessarily think of myself as that forgettable, and yet, I'm greeted with a cheery, "Hi, Mr. Rosen" (and unnecessary formality, but the understandable result of the name they see on the forms). And then it hits me, my Sally Field moment - they know me, they really know me! Now this is clearly not the place that you WANT to be a regular, or that they have my Chemo Cocktail poured (bagged) and ready for me in anticipation of regular arrival, but this is my fate and it feels special and heartwarming to be a person, not just a patient, and to feel like they really care.
