My Friend Bob

In life, people come and people go. I made a friend at radiation named Bob (I've changed his name in order to protect his confidentiality). He was probably about fifteen years older than me and was being treated for prostrate cancer. He had to have FORTY-FIVE treatments. Wow. That's twelve more treatments than I'm having. That's a long haul.

Bob and I had our appointments each day around the same time, and after seeing each other a few times, and smiling at one another politely, one day, we struck up a conversation. Bob isn't the kind of guy I'd normally hang out with, but there we were, together in the waiting room of the cancer center, our lives intersecting. I got to know a lot about Bob; he was a talker. He told me all about how his cancer wasn't diagnosed in a timely manner, about his symptoms, about his diagnosis, about his initial meetings with the radiation oncologists, and about his treatments. He told me about the pain he experienced when they had to insert (not once, not twice, but THREE times) a balloon into the treatment area (ouch!!) On snowy days, he told me about his driveway and how he ran over his azaleas trying to get out of the driveway, and about his long and harrowing drive into Nashville for his treatment on one particular day.

Bob finished his last treatment last Tuesday. I had thought about getting him a big cookie that said "Congratulations," but I didn't. I'm sorry about that. I saw him on his last day, and we hugged each other, and said that we hoped we'd see each other again one day. But not there, we said. We didn't want to see each other at the cancer center. Maybe at the Kroger, or someplace else in Nashville, but not at the cancer center.

Here's hoping that Bob and I are reunited one day under better circumstances, and that Bob has a long, joyful, cancer-free life.

Have a great day, all.

Erin