Journal of a Cancer Survivor

To realize there is chronological order in life as we progress through it is an understatement. When we attempt to relate our experiences incurred along the way, logic and chronology quite often become blurred. Thus, the reality of life is sometimes stranger than fiction...........

Our family and friends sat in the waiting room and chatted on about everything except the matter at hand. There were eight in our group. We had gathered early that morning and by nine o'clock the waiting room was pretty crowded. Each group that arrived seemed much like our group. We joked back and forth while some drank coffee and cold drinks or commented on articles in the magazines, and we all enjoyed being together.

Finally, the time had come to say our farewells. Everyone hugged me and wished me good luck. Promises of getting together in awhile were made and I was whisked off on my journey. It was the most incredible journey of my life.

My recall of events is extremely vivid if not accurate in the sequence in which they occurred.

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As I pulled into the parking space near the garage I noticed a large group of motorcycles. I had the uneasy feeling of having ventured into a rather unsavory section of the beach, but the club across from the parking area was definitely the place I was suppose to go. I crossed the road and entered the club. It was very dimly lit and I was surprised at how few people were there. The seating was unusual as there were rows of padded benches with backs and each section was separated by a waist high partition. The stage area was visible from all seats, but there was glass all the way to the ceiling directly in front of the stage. Behind the glass were bright colored lights.

Once my eyes had adjusted to the darkness of the room, I noticed off to one side was an open area and there were children sitting on the floor playing. It occurred to me they might be immigrants from So. America, perhaps illegal immigrants. They were all fairly dark skinned, big brown eyes and black hair, similar to our American Indians. None of the children were wearing clothes and they looked so pitiful.