In this essay, Leah Kinnaird describes an experience she had as a breast cancer patient and how a simple greeting can trigger a paradigm shift. The meaning of time to cancer patients is the underlying theme. It was my first appointment for chemotherapy, and I had planned every detail to make the experience as pleasant as possible. I imagined that I was going to a spa. Yes, a spa. I pictured how people were going to take care of me and that I didn't even have to answer my cell phone. All I had to do was relax. (I must have been desperate for attention to turn the infusion of poisonous substances into pleasantries.) If I couldn't relax, I had packed a roll-aboard suitcase full of distractions (computer to get some work done, cooking magazines, lunch, noise-canceling headset, favorite music, anything one might need in the coach section of a plane). My daughter-in-law dropped me off at the light rail station, and we waved goodbye as if I were going out of town. The guards at the entrance to the train station joined the fanfare and waved as the escalator took me to the platform. It was all staged, and I felt in control-only a bit high and flushed on pretreatment Dexamethasone. I was scheduled to arrive at the ambulatory infusion center at 11 a.m. By surprise, an RN friend met me outside the hospital to be with me during the treatment. As we approached the reception desk together, I received the best greeting I could possibly imagine for a patient to experience. The receptionist smiled and said, "We've been waiting for you." Her words were music to my ears. I was dutifully ready to do the waiting, so this was a real turn of events. I repeated in my brain as if I had to calculate what I had heard: "They have been waiting for me. Instead of me waiting for them, they are waiting for me." I think my posture straightened, my eyebrows lift ed, and the corners of my mouth turned up a little. I really enjoyed the moment. I glanced at my friend as if I needed to repeat, "They've been waiting for me. Did you hear that? I must be important." She was surprised, too (probably with the importance notion). Quickly I came to and we were whisked away to begin my chemotherapy infusion. That one greeting has had an enormous effect on me as a professional nurse. It represents a paradigm shift that cuts to the core of the experience of time that can run through the cancer patient's life. Let me explain. The very first thought that came to my mind when I heard that I had breast cancer was, "But I've been planning to live to be 100!" A snapshot of my life and its secretly infinite calendar flashed in front of me. Whack! Years were chopped from my hopes and my dreams. As my mind and heart raced, I heard my physician say, "This is not going to kill you, but it is now the priority in your life." I took comfort in the "not going to kill" part. As weeks passed, it was the "priority" word that lingered. My physician had the insight to share that, in the short run, my life was going to be caught up in a whirlwind of time commitments focused on my health. It was not just the thought of compressed years, but in some ways, minutes became more important to me. I did not have time to wait or waste. I became very sensitive about time, even deciding to talk with only a few people about what was happening to me. I decided to include people as it seemed fit and when there was a purpose. I wasn't sure how I could manage phone calls and expressions of concern. Some people misunderstood this, saying, "Look at Robin Roberts ( Diane Sawyer's friend and colleague on Good Morning America ). She has told the world that she has breast cancer." But Robin Roberts has a team of people to manage her communications. I was pretty much on my own. Cancer patients can be very busy people regardless of their roles in life. Mixed in with family, school, work, and other activities, cancer patients have more people to see, places to go, and things to do . …