During the radiation portion of my treatment, I reported to the cancer center 5 days a week, first thing in the morning before work. I typically had a "pep" in my step, too. Aside from having cancer, the doctors routinely told me that I was in excellent health.
And then came the waiting room, which did indeed feel like a nursing home, where many of the other patients were like close to triple my age. Many of them were in wheelchairs and hooked up to breathing devices. No one really talked to me, but I felt the eyeballs.
Going for cancer treatments is a major time commitment. It may not be every day as my comic quips, but it is often enough and for long enough that it becomes a second home of sorts. And if you're a young adult, the experience is even more strange. There's this looming idea that you shouldn't be there, that you don't belong. Something went very, very wrong.
When you know someone under forty who is dealing with cancer, you can bet that they are staring both aging and death on a regular basis. He or she is experiencing something that feels all wrong and out of place. The comic is my funny, silly way of attempting to give you that feeling that is just so hard to describe.