Mom and I arrive at the oncology center yesterday, awaiting to meet with a radiation specialist (for a second time. The first time, Mom was told she was not eligible to receive radiation.). This Air Force veteran walks in, disheveled, unshaven with the salt and pepper scruff thick enough to scrub burnt spaghetti sauce off a pan. His lips are zig-zaggy and his periwinkle scrubs are baggy. He has tired eyes, the kind that exhibit a mere glimmer of caring. He left an impression, though not a good one.
Mom elected to have chemotherapy.
I wonder why she chose that? Maybe she thinks, "What do I have to lose?".