How much of your life do you think you spend waiting?
I am often punished for being punctual. While I strategically plan to land at my destination at the agreed upon time, many others do not extend this courtesy. The excuses travel down the conveyor belt at a furious pace. I’ve heard it all.
Sorry, there was traffic.
I had to pick up my Lexapro and the line at the pharmacy was insane.
My father was found naked, wandering the streets, yelling out the name of his dead wife, so I had to bail him out of jail. Anyway, should we start with some egg rolls?
In the past year, I’ve spent countless hours of my life in waiting rooms. What a privilege. A whole room designed for me to sit quietly, watching precious seconds of my life flicker away at a snail-like pace. When you’re sick, this becomes reality. Appointment times be damned. The doctor will see you whenever she fucking feels like it. What are you gonna do? Cure your own cancer?
This is why they call you “the patient.” It is a word that transcends its usage because when you break it down, it is so much more than a name for an individual that needs care. They are telling you what you need to do. BE PATIENT. We will get to you as soon as we know that we have screwed up your plans for the rest of the day.
Tom Petty was right. Maybe not when he was shooting up large doses of heroin in an attempt to freefall down into nothing. I’m referring to when he said “The waiting is the hardest part.” We are often told how long we will wait for something. The human brain has evolved to be adept at dealing with torture when we know there is a timestamp on how long it will last. If you tell me fifteen minutes, a switch goes off that allows me to relax, knowing this particular period will last as long as brewing a strong cup of coffee.
But when that time has elapsed, and we still find ourselves in limbo, it is a maddening experience. The foot taps become rapid. An itch creeps into our skin. The clock is laughing hysterically knowing that while the rest of the world is moving along, you are temporarily sequestered in a state of desire, boredom, and frustration.
And there is nothing you can do about it.
Patience has never come naturally to me. I’m a delightful mix of stubborn and energetic, neither of which serves me in the waiting game because linear time doesn’t care about either. Of all the lessons I’ve learned from cancer, one of the most important was to slow down. When you are forced to wait, enjoy the downtime. Close your eyes. Deep breaths. Smile.
Beating cancer was a relief. While it pushed the limits of my body, it also tested my patience. The endless calendar of appointments was excruciating. I was pissed at these cancerous cells for swelling up my lymph nodes without permission. Consent is mandatory. But the real rage came from how they intercepted my time. Most people don’t tell you this but along with all the other bullshit, cancer is inconvenient.
The years it takes off of your life are not at the end. They are RIGHT FUCKING NOW. Cancer doesn’t care that you are supposed to be finding yourself at Burning Man, coaching your daughter’s soccer team, or studying for your master’s degree. You have to do what it says. Otherwise, it will obliterate your timeline all together.
An unexpected sensation came along with eradicating my cancer. I felt like I should immediately reach all of the high-level objectives that I have been working towards. “Look, everyone! I’m healthy. I’m strong. Now cast me as a series regular on your animated series and sell out all of my shows!” I went through a traumatic, painful, and terrifying experience which means every tree I’ve ever planted should fruit immediately. I’m ready to receive it!
Sounds reasonable, right? Sure, but that’s not how the world works.
It took me a couple of months to shed that attitude. Like my eczema-laden skin, it flaked off a little bit each day. I don’t shame myself for wanting to get on the express train as I steer myself toward my goals, but thinking that cancer was going to expedite the process is preposterous.
It’s going to take years of processing what I went through before I truly understand how it will propel me forward. By continuing my work as a comedian, relating this experience to others, the trees will sprout branches that reach far beyond what I could have imagined. Keep tending the garden. The flowers will blossom when they are ready.
Gandhi said, “To lose patience is to lose the battle.” He may have been hallucinating from a lack of food but the statement still rings true. I never thought that becoming a cancer “patient” is what would finally teach me the true meaning of that word.
My career will continue to build and along with it will come everything that I am meant to have in this lifetime. A family. A house. A life-size sculpture of pugs playing tennis. I will keep chiseling away at the marble every single day until I have sculpted a unique and beautiful piece of art. You can’t force it. All you can do is work hard, believe, and be patient. Eventually it will come harder than a celibate priest having a wet dream about an underage boy.
All that being said, if you make me wait when we are meeting up for dinner, you’re picking up the check.