Chaplain David McNeil on life in an oncology clinic

Journeys and a Prayer of Thanks

There is a chill in the air as I park my truck. Just a few days ago, the landscape was aglow with color as fall had taken hold and done its magic on the maple, oak, and ash trees. Today the leaves are falling, blanketing the ground in a mixture of reds, yellows, and rust colors, while the breeze swirls the colors into an ever-changing kaleidoscope of color.

I begin walking toward the entrance of the outpatient oncology clinic wondering what the new day will bring. My thoughts turned to Kathy, whom I have been visiting for over a year. The cancer that she had been fighting so successfully was now winning the battle. Her condition was deteriorating and we had begun discussing palliative care and making arrangements for her death. I was also thinking of Tom who was losing the fight with lung cancer. A man who had just retired two years earlier was now in the last stages of his life.

Pat also came to mind, a woman whose cancer was now in remission and who no longer needed to sit for the endless hours of chemotherapy, and Don, who had finished his treatment and was planning on taking that long delayed vacation with his wife.

Entering the waiting room I visited with some of the people waiting for their blood draws and then chemotherapy. Many of the people I visited with I had seen many times over the previous months and sometimes, years.

The clinic itself was busy with nurses getting patients settled and connecting IV lines to start the chemicals that would hopefully destroy the cancer in their bodies. In addition to the patients, there was also the quiet, determined work of the oncology nurses, as they connected the IV lines, listening to the patients, placing a hand on a shoulder, giving an encouraging word, and shedding a tear with a patient.

Looking around the room, I saw faces full of hope. Hope that the treatment would cure their illness, hope that they would have more time, hope that families fractured by cancer would somehow come together in this place. I also saw fear and anger. Fear that the cancer would rob them of their life and anger that their world had been turned upside down forever by the word “cancer.” Their independence had been taken away and they were now dependent upon doctors, blood tests, CAT scans, PET scans, MRIs, and countless other tests. Their lives were ruled by the calendar and the endless appointments.

Each of these patients has a story to tell, of the day that they received their diagnosis, as well as the stories of their lives, hopes, and dreams. Each patient hoped that they would see their cancer go into remission, that the chemotherapy would circle the wagons around the cancer and say, “We know that you are here and we will not let you go anywhere.”

Hanging up my coat I thought about how blessed I was to be a part of this scene. To be allowed to journey with these patients, to share their hopes and dreams, their fears and anger. To witness the love and compassion of the nurses who care so much for each patient and their families. I said a prayer of thanks and turned to see John, a patient I have been seeing for the last two years, waving to me with a big smile on his face. I waved back to John as I made my way to him. A new day had begun in the oncology clinic.

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