The club

I am now part of two clubs I never signed up for.  

The first is the chemo club.  We meet regularly when we go for our chemotherapy treatments.  The members of the club change regularly, although there are some I recognize from previous meetings. We all sit together in a room, waiting for our names to be called for the treatment that will drip poison into our veins - poison that, strangely, is supposed to cure this thing we have in common. 

After our names are called, we sit together in a different room, hooked up to IVs, participants in this strange meeting for however long it takes for our treatments.  For some, it's six or more hours; for others, less than an hour.  We occasionally make eye contact, speak to each other about our cancer, where we are in our treatment, the side effects we've had ... it's all about the cancer.  Then we retreat into sleep, or our books or our iPads and tablets, waiting for the moment the IV bag is empty, the needles taken out of our arms or PICCS or ports and we can go home and try to pick up the rhythm of our lives again.  "See you next time," we say as we smile and wave to those left in the room.

The second club is the cancer club.  I became aware I unwittingly joined this club the first time I went shopping with a scarf to cover my bald head.  Because I was obviously in treatment, I was approached by two women - both well meaning and kind - so they could tell me about their experiences with cancer.  The first woman made it short and sweet - she expressed her support as a survivor of cancer and wished me luck.  It was nice.  The second was more involved - her sister had had cancer twice and had survived, but she gave me too many details about the pain her sister went through to make it a comfortable and comforting conversation. 

Since then, I have been approached by others ... cancer survivors and friends or relatives of cancer survivors.  We are all in this big club together, all touched in some way by cancer, all suddenly tuned in to each other because of our fight against a common enemy.  

I'm not sure how I feel about being a member of these two clubs.  Obviously, I'd rather not have cancer - that would automatically take me out of the running for membership.  Yet there's something nice about other people's need to reach out to assure me that it will be all right - they survived; their sister/mother/aunt/cousin survived; the implication is that all will be well.  And that's nice to hear, because sometimes the fear takes over and the future looks very short.

My membership in the chemo club will end soon and I'm not sorry I won't be going to any more meetings.  The cancer club, however, will be a lifelong membership, whether I want it to be or  not.  I don't have to be an active member - I don't have to reach out to others who are going through what I go through now; I don't have to reassure them or wish them luck.  But I will be a member nonetheless.  And if I'm a member, I might as well put that membership to good use.  I have appreciated what others have said to or done for me and I feel I have an obligation to do the same for others.  I just have to figure out how to show my membership card in a helpful way.