There but for the grace of God go I

I was having breakfast at my second favorite place in NY today between jobs. I've been waiting for a job that brought me to Murray Hill so I could eat breakfast there since they only serve breakfast during the week and not on weekends. I'd gone in with a limited amount of time, factoring in being a little late for the next job (I know her and she won't care) and with my mind set on pumpkin waffles (but they weren't on the menu so I ordered French Toast). I took a table instead of the bar and sat down next to a mother and daughter. I noticed the young woman's hot chocolate and waiting for a chance to interrupt asked if that was hot chocolate with marshmallows. She said yes and I said 'then that's what I'm gonna order'.

Then she asked me if I lived in the neighborhood and when I said no, if I worked in the neighborhood. They wanted to know what were some good restaurants in the area. I noticed the young woman with the hot chocolate was friendly. Then she asked about good restaurants in the East Village. Now I was kind of center stage. I thought, shit, are they gonna wanna talk all through breakfast? I'd just ordered so we were looking at at least 15 minutes. I hate talking to strangers about 'the best of' anything. I don't know other people's preferences. After giving a conversation-ending answer I got up and went to the restroom. When I came back, they were in their own conversation so I figured I was off the hook and it was over. But as I sat there (without my book because I'd forgotten I did have one) I was listening to them. It was impossible not to because our tables were separate by less than a foot, and all they were talking about were restaurants and food! I thought, who are these people with nothing else to talk about? This is sad for a mother and daughter to have nothing else to talk about. They must be tourists and the mom must be high maintenance, needing all her meals planned out and Zagat surveys filled out.

Mom observed my French Toast and said to the daughter, 'Oh, that looks good. You could probably eat that, if you can chew it, it looks like the bread is cooked well enough'. I jumped back into the conversation and here is what I learned.

No, they were not tourists on a luxury vacation spending all their free time searching for the city's best eats. As we talked, nothing was further from the truth. I never did get their names but the young woman was here for medical treatment at the cancer center, indefinitely. Her mom took her to treatments during the week and her husband took care of her on weekends. They were housed at the cancer housing center which was near Penn Station, and there were no grocery stores nearby, and even if they could cook in the dorm, there was one kitchen and stove for so many people and going out to eat was their only opportunity to kind of get out and do something before a long day of chemo. To add to this, the only reason they were talking so much about food was because there was so little she could eat, either by doctor's orders or her own ability to stomach certain tastes and foods. She was very open about her condition and seemed to want to talk about it, since I certainly didn't ask.

I also quickly did the calculations that her husband probably stayed behind in their home state to work because he had to. Someone has to keep the money coming in to support them, and I'm eating out and blowing all that money everyday was the last thing they wanted to do. But didn't they need to have a little dignity and enjoy a good meal, keep themselves as healthy as possible, and who knows how many weeks or months this person has left? Now that I looked at her I guess I could see that it was a wig and that having serious cancer would incline you to having conversations with anyone new who wasn't gonna talk about cancer.

I sure didn't want to talk about cancer, so suddenly talking about restaurants was the greatest thing on earth, and I sure knew where to send them. "Near Penn Station, that's easy! Do you like Asian food?" I asked excitedly. Andria doesn't like to lie. I like to be real. I could tell them about Korean and Vietnamese food because I really do love it. I could talk to them both with respect and not with fake cancer pity because that's something natural to me.

They were both real talkers. She wanted to know what I did for a living and mom was still talking about food. Then we all had to leave. She told me to get a mammogram early. They don't pay for women to have them until like age 50. And she was now 35 and already was quite a ways into the struggle for proper treatment. She looked at me like she didn't just mean women should have one, but like I should have one. I thought about it. Was it fate that I should meet them or just another NY moment? What were the odds? I left one job early to make it to eat here today between 10:20 and 10:50am. I sat next to them and sat alone, easy to talk to. It reminded me that cancer man, wtf? When they go to Pho 28 on 32nd St tomorrow or Thursday, are they going to strike up a conversation with a Chinese herbalist who specializes in cancer, or is mom going to choke on a chicken bone? Or when I see my doctor this month, should I ask for a mammogram and tell her, just because I have a feeling? God knows I never have been able to give myself a breast exam because it freaks me out just thinking about cancer.

While we are on it, you know, I've changed over the years to feeling very vulnerable where I'd originally felt invincible. I felt strongly that illness would never fell me and not just because I was young and cocky. I felt it. I knew it. Now I feel differently, like a victim ready to be blindsided and victimized by the uncontrollable unknowns in my body. There but for the grace of God go I.