Conversation outside of my gym one day:

Young Man: “What kind of nurse are you?”

Me: “An oncology nurse. Don’t ever come to see me.”

YM: “I hope this is the last time we ever speak…no offense,”

Me: “None taken.”

It was a bitterly cold day and they came in buried in coats and hats and gloves. I saw her first and tried to hide, to blend into the background of the busy coffee shop. She came in laughing, her two young boys tumbling around her like puppies, also laughing. They placed their order, coffee for her, hot chocolate with extra whip for them. They selected a game, Battleship, from the shelf and turned to find a table.

That was when she saw me. I saw the spark of recognition, and her face fell. She froze for a beat before she moved on with a quick facsimile of a smile. And though I did not mean to, I knew I had just spoiled the day.

All at once she was forced to remember that a bomb had exploded in her life, a bomb called cancer. That I gave her treatments that made her sick, that no one could promise her that it was all going to be okay, that there would be more days to laugh in a coffee shop with her little boys. She had forgotten for a moment, and seeing me brought it all back. And even a friendly smile from me couldn’t salvage the moment.

You see, no matter how nice you are, how much they appreciate you, you still remind them of the worst thing that ever happened to them.

So, I usually try to avoid being seen. Though it isn’t always bad. Sometimes they run up and hug me and introduce me to whoever is with them, and give me far too much credit for their recovery. Sometimes it’s the loved one rather than the patient, and sometimes that loved one has died, and they cry, and as I get older sometimes they have to remind me who they are. They are always grateful.

But still I remain a reminder, of cancer, of hard times, of the brevity and uncertainty of life, the hourglass with an unknown amount of sand left sifting faster and faster.

Back in the coffee shop a kerfuffle has broken out at their table. Someone’s ship has been sunk and one brother is gleeful and the other outraged. She is diverted by the immediacy of the needs of children, restoring order and giving comfort. I take that moment to slip out, hoping that the memory of me and all I represent fades quickly like my breath in the icy winter air.