One of our leading politicos has gotten a lot of publicity in the past months by characterizing a group of immigrants to this country as “rapists,” “thieves” and “drug dealers.” Since my great-grandmother came from Australia, where the first white immigrants were transported convicts – rapists, thieves and drug dealers – I am a bit sensitive on the subject. So on my recent trip to Washington, D.C., I paid particular interest to the impact of immigrants to our nation’s capital.
After a long day of exploring the National Mall, the Holocaust Memorial Museum and the Museum of the American Indian, we welcomed an easy walk across the street from our hotel to the Cafe Park, sitting outside under the umbrellas fronting Pennsylvania Avenue, where we could people-watch. By the time we had begun to check out the menu, the humidity had devolved into a gentle rain, but we stayed out under our umbrellas as the air turned cool and fresh.
Isn’t it weird that the rest of the country considers us the 1 percent?
I check in with my oncologist every three months. I also get blood work done for every visit, a CT scan every six months and a yearly colonoscopy. It’s all relative, but I feel like over the past two years, I’ve been in and out of exam rooms quite a lot.
That said, I am treated well by everyone: my doctor, the nurses, the receptionists who check me in, the vampires who draw my blood, the technicians who ask me to remove my clothing and don a gown. Unlike shopping at most retail stores, or making any phone call to the cable company, my oncological encounters are uniformly positive. Everyone is warm, friendly, eager to help, patient, efficient and delighted to see me.
As my shaking hand scribbled away, changing my future forever, my attorney asked a question I hadn’t thought about: “Will you be taking back your maiden name?”