The acoustics in the doctor's waiting room were undeniably poor. Only in examining rooms with shut doors could conversations be private. Talks with the busy receptionist, interchanges between nurses, all phone calls in and out and even dialogue between waiting patients were easily heard by all.

My chemotherapy which was re-scheduled for two hours kept me six hours as the oncologist and staff grew more and more behind. Waiting forces you to observe all that is going on around you.

In the foyer was a young woman with very short, uneven cropped hair. That usually signals recovery from chemotherapy. The strongest chemo takes your hair in about ten days. Been there, done that. The only good thing about being bald is that you don't have to worry about being dragged off by a caveman.

The girl and I mutually smiled as each of us pulled out a copy of the same thick book we had brought to read. I read about ten pages of "The Visitation," by Frank Peretti, and then put it up. She was still reading late that afternoon.

The quietness was interrupted by a weak, but antagonistic voice. It came from the lab area. "No. Don't. I don't want to. Stop." It was hard to discern whether this was a child resisting blood being drawn or someone much older. The nurse was sympathetic and condoling.

"Won't you let me try? Just one stick and it'll be all over."

In a few seconds, I heard, "Well, it's all done now. No more sticks."

Everyone waited to see the one who dared to voice opposition to the expected needle sticks. In a moment a bent, frail, elderly lady emerged clutching tightly to a small teddy bear. She was assisted by a barely younger sister and a man. The fading lady staggered and almost fell. The sister and man hooked their arms inside her spindly ones to steady her. She was walking death. I could already envision her stretched out in a casket.

A couple in their late sixties, awaiting their visit with the cancer doctor, stared as the threesome slowly exited the front door. Tears welled up in the eyes of the balding, thin man who had been reading a church bulletin. He looked at his wife who returned a tearful wince. I wondered if it was pity for the old lady or the unspoken question, "Is that what I will look like soon?" Maybe both.

That is the way you think in cancer wards or treatment centers. You look at everybody else and wonderful how far along in the journey they are. You see stages you once were and stages you imagine you will see in the future. I wasn't as far along as the frail lady, but probably much further down the road that the young girl with the cropped hair.

I left the office drained from the chemotherapy and the real-life drama played before my eyes. I thought of Carl Sandburg who said, "Life is like an onion; you peel off one layer at a time and sometimes you weep." Thankfully, there are other quotes that make us smile in dark times:

"God is dead." … Nietchze

"Nietchze is dead." … God