Since August, I’ve spent a good amount of time in doctors’ offices. To my neurosurgeon, and even to my ENT, I’m nothing special, just another brain tumor patient, a successful outcome, perhaps a notch in their belt. Whatever the case may be, they each did their job successfully, no doubt because they have had some experience. I’m nothing new to them.
It’s the other doctors that take an almost gruesome interest. After decades of going to doctors for minor ailments, for physicals, aches and pains, the occasional somewhat serious concern (at least in my mind), and being met with what was almost certainly boredom, the new reaction I get is really interesting. I’m met with boundless energy and the greeting, ‘Mrs. Wiley, do you know how lucky you are? Start from the beginning and tell me, what happened to you?!” And then they sit in rapt attention waiting to hear my gory story, invariably followed up with an astonished look and some version of the affirmation of my luck. They want to help me, to figure out the next steps. They want to see how things have played out thus far and where we might be headed. It’s like being one of those scarily interesting parients on House MD.
I’m not sure if I should be flattered or petrified. I guess, For now, I’ll just continue to be the most interesting woman in the room.
Nancy Wiley writes. 