Changing Lives with Chicken Nuggets

By the time I backed into the parking space at the cancer center for Kim's first chemotherapy treatment, my poor gal was already bruised and exhausted from a 9 day "diagnosis sprint" with 3 medical oncologists and 2 surgeons ordering 3 ultra sounds, 2 biopsies, 2 MRIs, a bone scan, a CT scan, a mugga (whatever that is), a genetic test, a half dozen blood draws and surgical implantation of a subcutaneous medi-port on her chest. She was sore. I was scared.

The 9 days of needles and scans took its toll as soon as we arrived at the Center. The reality had only recently set in for me (I'm a slow learner), but Kim had been anxiously anticipating this moment since she first felt a lump on October 16th. Tears streamed down her face almost as soon as she sat down. I use language for a living but all I could do was hug her and say what we all say...

As the nurse began the efficient choreography of bag and tube assembly, Kim asked her to stop and explain everything before she began treatment. The nurse smiled and assured Kim that it would all go more smoothly if she explained it in real time, as treatment occurred. Kim bravely nodded through the tears. It was hard for either of us to talk.

Even through the tears, we could not help but notice a beaming smile coming from the corner of the room. Every now and then we could hear a chuckle. I squinted to focus on a pleasant middle aged woman celebrating her last day of chemotherapy. Blanca was there with her wonderful daughter Michelle. Blanca had received 12 treatments for a Stage 3 cancer and was thrilled to be done. She could tell we were scared but never stopped smiling. She told us that chemo would "go quick." "It goes quick, honey, and you have to have faith." Blanca was still smiling.

We struck up conversation and enjoyed our new friends. Michelle went to get her mom some lunch and asked if we wanted anything. We politely declined. Kim recently began a new cleanse diet.  In the last 9 days, she drank a farmer's market of fruits and vegetables, one pint glass at a time.

Michelle went on her way and Kim admitted it was a big mistake not to order something. Someone in the treatment center had McDonald's. We could smell french fries and cleanse diet be damned for the next 3 hours. 

Wonderful Michelle was back. She had ignored our verbal response and listened to our hearts. She brought us a 12 piece order Chick-Fil-A nuggets and offered us a cookie to boot. 

It was a simple and kind gesture. They knew we were scared, and they wanted to help. My faith in people was shaken long ago but now Kim and I had chicken nuggets. We were sharing and talking. The fear was always near but losing ground with every bite.

Blanca and Michelle spoke of faith and prayer and family and friends. We discussed shampoos and wigs and why cancer is a community of folks. Before we left, Blanca called Kim aside and asked if she was Catholic. She said, "We pray to our Holy Mother and it helps us." 

Blanca explained that when she first came to chemotherapy, she was scared and tearful. A nun gave her a card of scripture of the Holy Mother and it gave her peace. She smiled when she saw our tears because she knew she had to pass it on to Kim. She hugged Kim and said what we all do. But I believe Blanca. Her warmth changed me that day. Her gift moved Kim to tears. But we left with a different type of tears than we arrived. We had hope and Our Holy Mother.

Those two women changed our lives and gave us chicken nuggets.