I had written recently about getting lost after visiting my dear friend at the cancer centre in Calgary, but the part I left out was how lost I felt preparing to go in the first place. As can happen, her situation moved startlingly fast from a fun lunch together to full intensive cancer treatment in less than three weeks. No one is prepared for that kind of turn of events.
Really, all I had to do was think of something that might bring a level of comfort as I planned my visit to Calgary. Flowers wouldn’t really make the trip well, yadda yadda. I went through the list of things that might brighten the room or brighten her day. Knowing all her kids and grandkids were traveling from various locations to spend time with her, I figured I would cook up my mom’s famous banana bread. Not terribly imaginative, I know, but if you ask anyone who has tried it, Mom’s banana bread truly is the best. Plus, it’s healthy and would shower my friend with feelings of being loved and nurtured.
But where on earth had I put the recipe? Not in that special place I put things that I don’t ever want to lose, I hope, because those can never be found again. I know when I first retired my priority was to learn to cook, but I quickly got over that compulsion and set about to organize my recipes into one single binder and file it away. So, if anyone ever comes across a thick red binder full of recipe sheets, please let me know.
I eventually did find a recipe online and baked it up, sliced it and placed it in a nice container. My daughter took a nibble of one of the leftover slices and muttered, “I think something might be missing” and placed the rest of her slice back. Rude. At any rate, off I journeyed with a stranger’s banana bread and my best wishes. But when I arrived at the cancer centre, my friend reminded me that she’s gluten free. Rude.
I stammered something about having also thought of flowers, to which she informed me there were no flowers allowed on her ward. Which brings me back to the whole point of this column. It never crossed my mind to investigate what is appropriate to bring into an active treatment centre in the first place. Or whether I needed to dress in a particular way (no casual shoes that have been worn at a farm recently, for instance). What jeopardizing items might I be unknowingly carrying? Body lotion with heavy scents or, even worse, perfume. And books, flowers, puzzles and other gifts are thoughtful, but they also take up precious bedside space. The guidelines suggest you consider taking them to the patient once they return home – a great idea.
It’s hard to gather your wits to see a friend in hospital, but it’s harder to think your visit might have caused them even more discomfort. If the medical facility doesn’t post this type of information on their website, ask the person you’re visiting. Their sole focus is on getting well – for you and everyone else who loves them. They will be clear on what they need to support them on that quest.