The woman that showed up late
for her 2 pm chemotherapy
saved me
from the bigger-than-self sea.
The waves were powerful.
Bouncing me, effortlessly
yet violently,
into the next day,
the next week, the next year.
When I could come up to the surface,
on a holiday
or an annual existential crisis,
I would find myself breathing in
an angry regret
for reserving many moments for
later,
as if it was certain that
joy an spontaneity and love
taste better with more birthdays.
The lifejacket she tossed me
carried her smell of old pennies,
and landed with a grand echo,
reverberating the water
and her jelly skin, alike.
I wondered
if the chemicals that gnawed at her tissue
gave her superpowers.
Her words prickled the back of my sternum.
She could see that something was clawing there,
awaiting permission.
Perhaps, it was an invitation.
“What are you going to wait for, dear?
Chemo?”
Medical training is all-consuming. It can be extremely challenging for trainees to take a deep breath or remember themselves outside of their training. I was in a period of staying afloat and having a “just get through the day” attitude. I would occasionally realize how quickly other aspects of my life were passing me by, but this moment would be brief and eclipsed by something else that felt more important. One day, I was chatting with a patient who was undergoing chemotherapy for an aggressive cancer. My conversation with her pulled me out of the hole I had entered once again. She had lived her life by prioritizing her work, her family, and most things outside of herself. She shared that on the day she was diagnosed with cancer and the weeks before her first chemotherapy treatment, her best friend called her often. During each call, they worked on a list of all the things they have wanted to do since childhood. It was a list of adventure and harmless fun. Anytime one of them would hesitate about including something on the list, her best friend would say, “What are we waiting for? Chemo?” Their humor was their coping mechanism. Her best friend was diagnosed with cancer the same year.
We hear so often that “life is too short” so we must “live in the moment.” I sometimes forget what the words really mean because it can be hard to believe them when the days are consumed by a million other things. That day, I took a step back and looked more deeply at my life. I have so much to be grateful for and so much I have left to see and experience. I can start working towards that by saying yes to more daily adventures and embracing all the little joys that come my way.
Image credit: “2012 Adventure Photography Competition“ by Frontierofficial is licensed under CC BY 2.0.
Medical Student Contributing Writer
Case Western Reserve University School of Medicine
Sriya Donthi completed her Bachelors of History and Philosophy of Medicine and Biology at Case Western Reserve University, where she is now attending medical school. She has been writing poetry since the age of fifteen and enjoys finding ways in which the creative arts and her interest in medicine can connect. Her medical interests are in obstetrics/gynecology and health literacy education.
