I picked up my Grandpa Cozy from his house this morning. The sun was coming up over the houses and he and my Granny are sitting on the porch in their metal patio set. Grandpa is dressed in all fleece, grey fleece pants and black long sleeve shirt. He looks small and frail. He still towers over me but looks like his flesh is hanging onto his bones. I remember as a child him having a small beer belly from eating fried fish that he caught on his boat in Lake Texoma and drinking Coors from the old tan colored cans. His body shows the years. We get in the car with a bag of neccessary items for his comfortable travel. I would equate it to a bag I would take with me when my sons' were small. He walks with a cane at a cautios pace.
We drive and talk about everything from the lake being 20 feet low and the type of engine in my minivan. Interupted by only the GPS directions coming from my phone. He tells me that the PET scan is only of his chest. That either it is a serious lung infection or cancer. He says if it is cancer "then it is all over." He has beat cancer before. When I was a teenager. I remember hearing the fear in my Dad's voice when he told us about it then. I heard that fear in his voice this week when he asked me to take Grandpa for his scan this week.
We are in the waiting room. Grandpa fills out pages of paperwork. I fill in his name and date and leave him just the signatures. He squints through his bifoculs to read the fine print. He is the most well read and intelligent man I have ever known and probably will ever know. His photographic memory allows for decades of information to reside within his small frame. I see his gold rimmed teeth from dental work done long ago. The lighting is dim and the dark shades on the window allow for little natural light. The furniture is dark heavy wood and beautiful with floral print and accompanied by tall backed leather chairs with metal studds lining the outline of them. Magazines. Lots of magazines covering every genre. The one of local pets looking for their forever homes and the one on caring for cancer strike me the most. They beg for my attention. Grandpa talks nervously. He tells me that my husband and I are a good match. I trust his intuition. He has been in love with with my Granny for over 53 years, with 3 wars, numerous deployments, 3 kids, and moves around the country that mirror nomadic native americans. The music is the same as what plays on the speakers at Massage Envy. It is soft but draws your attention. I am sure it is supposed to soothe the patients and family. It is failing however well intentioned it may be.
We continue to talk of whatever strikes my Grandpa of conversation worthy. He then tells me that one of his Vietnam friends had gotten a grave prognosis recently. The gentleman decided that the illness would take too long so he took a gun and shot himself. I looked at Grandpa in complete shock. I sternly look him in the eye and say "Well that isn't an option". I reasure him that he has beaten grave prognosises before and that this time could be no different. And in the next breath, before I can catch my thoughts, I tell him that if he doesn't that it is okay too because he has lived an incredible life and it is what it is. He agrees and tells me after this he is taking me to lunch, my choice. I am not hungry.
They call Grandpa back. I walk him to the door and hand his care over to a nice young man. I give him Grandpa's bag and kiss him on the cheeck and tell him to be nice to the nurses.
A woman in her 40's comes out with a gauze wrap on her wrist and sips on hot chocolate given to her by the receptionist. She goes out to her car to get her jeans so she can change and be ready to go to work. They hand her a set of CD's and said the doctor will receive a copy but these are incase he wants a hard copy. She asks if the doctor will call her or if this was it. The look of hope in her eyes is the same as a sweet dog when families look upon her in the shelter cage. The nurse tells her that the doctor will call her soon. The family walks past the dogs cage and saddness sets in. Same for the lady. A while later, a young man in his 20's comes out with his messenger bag. Filled with books, iPad, and dangling car keys flopping over the side of the bag. His wrist is bound as well. He is dressed in green plaid lounge pants and green shirt from Canada. He is chipper as he drinks his hot chocolate. He receives his CD's and exits shortly there after.
There is now a young man in his late 30's here. Brown leather flip flops, blue striped swim trunks, and blue polo. Black glasses perched atop his head. He has a wedding band on. He is accompanied by his father. He strikes me as the italian mofioso type. His laptop cords are stored in a Crown Royal bag. I pray for him and the two other patients, and especially my grandpa.
We come into this world and leave it much in the same way. Bags filled with neccessary comfort items, anxious relatives in waiting rooms, nurses delivering both good and bad news. Waiting. Waiting to hear if we will bring our loved ones home, ways to help them be comfortable after procedures, round bellies that shrivel with the absence of life. Time is short. The delivery waiting room is filled with nervouse laughter. The PET scan waiting room is filled with hurried phone calls and silent prayers.
May God answer the silent prayers of these patients and their families and grant us all peace and comfort in receiving news, regardless of the outcome.
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