The Doctor's Office

A precious encounter with a dying man

They take you into a small room at the Dr.’s office and sit you in an easy chair. It looks like a small living room, and then the resemblance ends. They hook you up and start pumping your arteries full of multi-colored chemicals (1). You know you soon will be violently ill. It’s one treatment for cancer.

I was sitting in a chair getting my chemicals when they brought him in. His tall frame was all bones now, except for a basketball sized stomach that was obvious evidence of his rampant disease. His days appeared to be few.

I turned my head and stared at the wall, knowing that if I looked at him, I would surely be ill. No words were spoken.

My treatment was over, and it was time to leave. I pointed my eyes straight ahead knowing I had to pass this wretchedly sick man’s chair on the way out. As I raced by his chair, I felt a bony hand grab my arm. I stopped and looked down into his eyes. They were kind eyes. In a raspy voice he spoke, “I’ll pray for you” he said, “I’ll pray for you.”

I tried to say God Bless you but my feelings choked the words. Unstoppable tears covered my face as I walked down the hall.

A few days later the old man died.

If you might somehow hear me out there, mister.

Good Bye, mister.

Good Bye, mister.

I will remember you always – forever.

Editor’s Note:

(1) My dad underwent chemotherapy in 1984 and 1985. Since then the therapy has improved, and its side effects are less. Back then, my dad would be extremely ill for days after each treatment.