Still Me By Rashmi

When people think of an oncology waiting room, they probably imagine silence.
Heads bent. Anxious faces.
Everyone counting the minutes until their name is called.
Mine isn’t quite like that.
It begins with a black file.
Every patient has one.
The doctor’s name is printed on the front, and inside are his notes, test results and, rather wonderfully, his artistic interpretation of our anatomy—but that’s a story for another day.
Over time, I noticed something.
Whenever someone walked in carrying that same black file, we’d catch each other’s eye.
We’d smile.
Not because we were happy to be there.
Because no explanation was needed.

That little black file made us members of a club nobody ever wants to join.
And yet…
it’s a remarkably kind club.

I’ve met women in that waiting room who have become friends years later.
One pressed a little packet of prasad into my hand after returning from a pilgrimage.
Another arrived one day with a book on Buddhism and insisted I keep it.
Another called me a few days after we’d met and said,
“Would you like to have coffee sometime?”
Of course, I said yes.

We’ve exchanged wig suppliers.
Tracked down radiation creams that weren’t easy to find.
Compared notes on scarves, wigs, hats and the strange little side effects nobody warns you about.
Not because we’re doctors.
Not because we’re giving medical advice.
Simply because we’re looking out for one another.

Then there’s Kris. – the doctor’s assistant.
He wanders around the waiting room with sweets, coffee and an endless supply of absolutely silly jokes. Which still make us laugh
He probably thinks he’s just helping people pass the time.
I think he’s doing something much bigger.
Sometimes a smile arrives wearing a white coat.
Sometimes it arrives carrying a sweet and a tray of coffee.
And because this is India, the coffee comes with another ritual.
“One by two.”

If you’re Indian, you know exactly what that means.
One coffee. Two cups.
Somehow, even in an oncology waiting room, we can’t resist sharing.
It always makes me smile.
It feels less like a hospital and more like one of those restaurants where everyone orders soup “one by two.”

Life has a funny way of refusing to stop being life.
Cancer doesn’t seem to understand that.
It expects to become the centre of everything.
Instead, people keep being wonderfully human.

They share sweets.
Recommend wig shops.
Swap stories.
Laugh.
Pray for each other.
Offer books.
Exchange phone numbers.
Become friends.
I’ve realised that cancer isn’t the only thing we have in common
Kindness is too.
I wish none of us had ever needed that black file.
But since we did…

I’m grateful for every smile, every conversation, every shared coffee and every unexpected friend it brought into my life.
Sometimes the best medicine in the waiting room isn’t the one waiting behind the doctor’s door.
Sometimes…
it is the person sitting in the chair beside you.