Cancer and Healthy

Having enjoyed a beautiful Easter with my family and friends, the weekend ended way too soon. The girls started back to school and my Ronnie went back to work. I returned to chemo. I had to force the car to drive there yesterday because I would have enjoyed nothing better than staying at home playing with the horses and piddling around the house. It's over an hour to drive to the hospital and some days it is a rather lonely trip. Other days I enjoy being lost with my thoughts. Yesterday, was a little of both. I was dreading treatment but imagining the good that it will do.

When I got to the office, Deb gave me a huge smile and a hug. My trepidation disappeared. Thank heavens for wonderful nurses! She told me that they were doing some redecorating and we'd soon be getting new infusion chairs. I've not given much thought to the soon to be replaced chair even though I've sat in it more times than I can count. It's a bluish-green color that isn't exactly inviting but isn't drab either. It has a serious demeanor with a tray in front; clinical but comfortable. Not quite worn out but dimpled in the cushions and aged more than some I've seen. I started thinking about the old saying if these walls could talk and began to wonder about the arms of these chairs. With four or five patients every single day, more than 100 lives are cushioned in each every given month. That's a lot of living! I've done my share of living while getting infused. There have been times when I sought comfort from the high back and would relax comfortably in it's hug, determined that the chemo dripping into my body was melting tumors. Other times when I knew that my cancer was progressing, but hoped that the next concoction to be given in that very chair would bring more time and hope. I have experienced both dread and anticipation between those arms. There have been days where I literally had to make myself sit there. wanting to be anywhere and everywhere else. I have been mad and glad, scared and tired, sick and frustrated, excited and hopeful in that one silly chair. I've slept there, rested there, and experienced every emotion under the sun sitting in the dimpled cushion of that chair. I've dreamed of my children and family, wished many wishes, and prayed many a prayer while sitting there. I've read books, listened to music, and met new friends.

As I sat in it yesterday the chair next to me saw two other patients come and go. The first was in and out fairly quickly....an old pro with this routine. The second was there for the first time and diagnosed with stage IV colorectal cancer. She found out just before the birth of her son and is only 33 years old. Her husband was with her and at first I heard determination in the voice through the curtain but as the newness of what was happening began to settle in the voice became shakier. Questions filled the air. Will this make her sick? Will her hair fall out? How long until it works and how many treatments until she's done? Answers that had probably already been given a few times over but often come with different responses. I heard her husband's voice waver slightly and then he asked if she thought she would be ok if he left to call and check on the baby and work. My mind traveled back to those tearful first visits to chemo that now seem a lifetime ago and the emotions that Ronnie and I shared together all from a similar chair. We would ride home with my head against his shoulder and his arm on my leg. I would sleep or pretend to sleep so that we could act as though what just happened hadn't. Sometimes I would cry silently and sometimes we would cry together. And then there were the celebrations when all in the world was right and news was good. I lived, and still live, for moments like those. My thoughts were drawn to the girl next door. I heard sniffling and an effort to hold back tears. She was alone. I let her cry for a minute or two and then asked if she would mind company. I parted the curtains and we began to talk. We exchanged phone numbers and by the time her husband was back life stories. I saw the relief in his face when he saw her smile. A good feeling....all from the support of a comfy old chair.