Getting to know your neighbors

Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center has some of the most renowned doctors in the world, but the 14th floor is a place I wish none of you ever have to visit, or worse, stay.  While this hospital is one that provides hope for many facing immense barriers in front of them, for unfortunately more it is a place of great despair, pain, and ultimately serves as a pit stop before they let go for their final resting place.  I wish I could infuse some humor into this situation, but the most alarming thing about my stay at MSKCC was that I, a "healthy" 22 year old athlete, was in the same treatment center as so many people so close to death.  

What is interesting about the 14th floor is that there is an etiquette to it that you pick up on quickly - mostly during everyone's daily "laps."  You see, nearly everyone, myself included, just had some major surgery that threw their body for a loop.  To lie in bed increases the chances for pneumonia, and also doesn't promote healthy blood flow necessary for optimal recovery.  It is important to get up and move around, and as I found out - 14 laps around the floor is a mile, everyone is encouraged to do at least that daily.  In the halls it is like the most depressing daytona 500 you'd never want to see.  The doctor's have a great sense of humor, and when I tried to brag to one, saying I'd already done 15 laps today, his reply was, "well a 95 year old blind woman has done 16 so don't be too satisfied."  Further, doing your laps around the floor gives you a chance to see the inhabitants of all 24 rooms.  Some of them you pass in the hall, and a lot of them give you a kind smile, connecting that you both understand the same thing.  Others, you can't help but look in their room as you pass - and its the ones that don't have the strength to do their laps that truly break your heart.  Some of them are alone, bald from chemo, and coughing up what sounds like a small animal.  Others are fast asleep in their bed as the family sits silent around them (these are harder to look at).  Possibly the worst is when I saw the pastor reciting a hail mary in one of the rooms.  I would like to say that I couldn't believe what I was seeing, but after a few minutes on the 14th floor - nothing surprises you. 

While walking the halls you see mostly elderly men and women, fighting a good fight, but there was also a little boy that I saw a number of times.  He couldn't have been older than 5 years old, walking with his mother, older brother (about 7 or 8) and father.  He was a cute little kid, with his hair spiked up in a little fo-hawk, asking questions to his mom in an uplifting little-kid voice that made me smile (he asked, "something smells, did daddy fart?").  The little boy seemed to be doing okay, and I hope that he was as lucky as me, and his stay was only a few days.  This reminded me that the cancer has no discrimination, and while older men and women are easy targets, we are all susceptible.  

Those laps were always eye opening, and without them, it would have been easy to fail to see outside the curtained-off half of a room I inhabited.  Possibly the most touching neighbor I came in contact with when was I was waiting for an x-ray.  A nice middle-aged woman in a british accent approached me as they took her father into the x-ray room.  You have a lot of people around you, she noted.  Yes, I told her, I'm very lucky, and it makes the days go by much faster, I responded.  She inquired about what I was there for, and when I told her that removing the tumor should be the extent of my operations she was blown away, reminding me how lucky I am.  Her father has stage 4 lung cancer that has spread to his bones.  They came all the way from London to MSKCC because of how great of a reputation the hospital has.  Already, he has been able to walk and begin to speak again after previously not being able to do either.  The woman seemed genuinely grateful that I had an optimistic outlook for my recovery, and I echoed to her that her presence just being in the hospital for her father already meant a lot, whether he expressed it or not.  It was that personal interaction that reiterated to me that while this hospital was one of despair at times, it had an incredible buzz of energy at the same time.  People look at complete strangers and smile and pull for each other because whether or not they know exactly what procedures, operations, stages they are going through - they can relate.  I just consider myself immensely lucky that I was probably the healthiest person there, dealing with the most minimal medical situation.

More to come

Matt