You are a work of art

I walk down the long corridor between the hospital and the Cancer Center, where my darling Red has been transferred, turn a corner, and find an art gallery in the hallway.

“You are a work of art,” says the first sign that greets the eye, and we are, aren’t we? Every day, every moment, we are considering what image to paint for our friends and colleagues, what words we will use, in order to create — a thing of beauty? something tremendously useful? something to amuse and/or entertain? a highway? a perfect set of braces? the correct mix of potent chemicals to drive away a deadly disease?

The first few times I walked down this corridor, I was deep in my own thoughts and fears and questions. Today, I’m going to try to remember to stop and look at the paintings and photos on the wall. Artists created those visions, and another artist or artists chose and arranged them. They want me to see them, and I need to see them.

Red received her first chemotherapy treatment this week at the center 138 miles from our home. I have tried to visit every other day, sometimes it’s three days between. Day job responsibilities and the limits of my own body stand in the way. She is fighting a scourge that baffled our local doctors for nearly three months before they sent us here. I believe in the folks here, and in the prayers of friends and family, and I believe in Red, the toughest cookie I have ever known.

She is a work of art, and a treasure.

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