Treatment Through The Eyes Of 25 Yr Old Grandson.

Early this morning I drove my pap to the medical center for his daily radiation treatment. It's a 78 mile round trip for him, while the procedure takes less than fifteen minutes to complete. He just began treatments last week, and this was the first time I accompanied him. He will come here everyday for five weeks.

Upon arrival, we entered the radiation wing. Immediately, we were shown to a waiting room. The room was small, rectangular, and white-walled. In the far right corner was a bookcase, stacked with books, puzzles and toys. The far left contained a tv tuned into the morning news. Fourteen chairs guarded the perimeter of the room. A couple sat to the immediate right, the wife knitting. We walked in and sat in chairs opposing the entryway. To our right was a second book case. This one was smaller, and displayed various magazines and cancer-related literature. Also along the wall was a small fridge, coffeemaker, and a table. Atop the table laid a thousand pieces of a puzzle of a brilliantly colored butterfly, its wings spanning to the table edges. "Everyday people put pieces in that puzzle," said my pap, motioning towards it.

Several moments later a nurse came and summoned for him. Afterwards, a tall man of older age wearing a long white overcoat entered the room. "Good morning, doctor," said the man seated next to the knitting woman. The doctor gave a small smile. "Did I miss a spot?" the doctor replied as he ran his hand across his cleanly shaved face. "No, but I did," said the man, stroking his long white beard. They both chuckled. The doctor turned and helped himself to a cup of coffee and then left. It just seemed to be part of the daily routine. The white bearded man then made a motion in the air as if to attract my attention. "There's cookies in that blue tin over there," he said pointing. "They're usually really good!" I smiled, glanced over, and finally said "Thanks, but it's too early for me." Normally I wouldn't turn down a "really good cookie" but after a long night with little sleep I just didn't have the stomach for it.

My attention focused back to the puzzle on the table. The image of the butterfly was becoming distinct. The amount of pieces scattered about, each on its own, on the outside of the picture was less than what had already been locked together. I wondered how long people had been working on it. How many different lives and their stories had contributed? And how long until it would be complete; a perfect resemblance of the photo on the outside of the box, for all to enjoy? In a sense, the puzzle seemed to give hope. One piece at a time, one step at a time. Sometimes it fit perfectly. Others, they might take more time, perhaps several attempts. Either way, it didn't seem easy. I wondered how long it might take myself to find the right piece. I looked around the room again, and suddenly pap appeared in the doorway. "All done," he said.

This room, while simple and small as it was, just might be one of the most important rooms that some will ever spend time in. This room is where the battle begins everyday.

They come everyday.
They put pieces in the puzzle.

And they wait.