On Being Whole

Today I saw a cancer patient for my job -- a nice, grizzled, grandmotherly old woman with light hair and a tired face. She was sitting in the testing room waiting for me. Some of her lower jaw had been removed for oral cancer, and we had to put a towel on her chest to catch the dripping from her mouth. She was one of the kindest people I ever met. I gave her sample after sample to try to measure her responses, and she would kindly ask questions, laugh, and make conversation in between tests. During a break she asked me if I cooked my own meals, and she told me that she used to be a lunch lady at an elementary school.

I couldn’t help but be reminded then of my days back in public school, when my teachers would spell words out on the board and recite times tables to the class. One of our teachers loved reading the story of Amazing Grace, and would gather the class sitting on the floor around her to listen. At lunchtime, the lunch ladies would come in hauling huge carts with food trays, because the cafeteria was too small for every class to have their lunchtime in it. No one minded though. It was more fun to eat in class. When the day was over, the lunch ladies would say goodbye to everyone and haul out the garbage bags.

I didn’t tell her this, but it was clear from the short conversation we had that she liked doing her job. She had four sons that she liked to cook and make things for, and she had grandchildren now.

In the end, it seemed that she had come to terms with her cancer and was living normally. Despite having her jaw removed, she had a sense of humor and still loved to eat chicken. I saw her out and went to cleaning out my solution bottles. I looked in the mirror and felt briefly for my jaw. It was oddly comforting to feel the hard bone beneath, thinking to myself how nice it is to be whole.