Level lab 3

Soft, warm lighting, copies of crossword puzzles and word finds, and artwork filled the waiting room of level lab three. We all knew why we were being sent there. Our platelets were too low to receive chemo, but in one last, ditch effort they would draw blood again in a special tube to see if your numbers would come up.
An aid brought an elderly woman in a wheelchair to await her fears. She was argumentative in a comical way. "I'm going to eat ice-cream whether she wants me to or not," the woman told her caregiver. I sat there thumbing through my magazine, not really paying attention to the pages and I just couldn't help but smile.
"Dr. Chapman is your doctor, isn't she?" I asked.
"Why, yes how did you know?"
"Because my mother said the same thing after one of her appointments," I said. The foods my mother once enjoyed were now being taken away from her little by little.
At that moment though, I knew my mother was with me. I felt her so strongly in that room, holding my hand telling me it was all going to be okay.
This was my first roadblock I had to overcome. Something I didn't have control over. My platelets were too low and I hadn't even started chemo yet. How could this be? Hence, why I was sitting in level lab three. I was so scared my chemo was going to be delayed.
One woman, trying to smile while she told whoever was on the other end of her cell phone, said she wouldn't be receiving chemo that day. You couldn't help but overhear her. You couldn't help but notice her hands trembling, her voice shaky, her spirit defeated. Her husband held her hand as she gathered her things to leave for the day.
Being told your platelets are too low not only means your not able to receive chemo, but it also means this ugly disease has a chance to grow and spread until you get treatment. Every day counts.