At the Kaiser Center in Ontario where I have my radiation treatments, just outside the dressing room, where this morning I donned the outfit for my 20th treatment, there is a stainless steel windowed cabinet that houses warm blankets. Frequently it is chilly inside this department, so a warm blanket has often been a comfort to me (and to many others, I feel sure) to wrap around my shoulders or spread over my legs or arms during my actual treatment.
I considered warm blankets today as I waited. I reckoned with the understanding that sometimes warm blankets are not of wool or cotton, not something I might hold in my hand, but otherwise . . .
Perhaps a bud from my garden, a single stem from the florist, or a dandy stick or stone found along my morning walk.
Eye contact with a stranger as she lifts her head. A smile.
A word of approval. A nod of understanding.
Hand on a shoulder. Whisper in an ear, “I’m here if you ever need me.”
Today during my cancer treatment time, I reflected on warm blankets.