Round Three

Yesterday I had my third round of chemotherapy, hooked up to an IV from 8:30 in the morning to 2:00 in the afternoon. The first drip is Benedryl and an anti-nausea drug to get me ready for the high-powered chemo to come. When the Benedryl kicks in I am a pleasant state of drowsiness like I have just enjoyed a couple of glasses of wine. I can’t focus on reading or writing in the notebook I had optimistically tucked into my bag, so I look around the infusion room at all the other patients sitting in cushioned chairs like mine. There are twelve chairs, three on each side of the large room, all facing towards the center. There are curtains between the chairs that give the illusion of privacy, but as I look out across the room I can see the others, bald headed or wearing caps and scarves, sleeping or visiting with a friend. The room is full today… eleven of the twelve chairs occupied. I see familiar faces and some that are new, younger patients. We smile and nod at each other, ask how the last treatment went. For a day we become family, and we are all here for one reason, because we want to get well, or at least to live a little longer.

I have done extremely well with my chemotherapy so far. Very few side effects - none debilitating – and the last CT Scan showed that the upper right lung has cleared and the tumor has been reduced slightly. The weekly blood draws show everything within normal range. I am grateful, most especially because I realize what a fine line it is. After all, as Leroy Sievers wrote in 2006 on a My Cancer posting, “My doctors are trying to poison me. Oh, they have the best intentions. They call the process chemotherapy. The idea is to poison the body enough to kill the cancer, but not quite kill the patient. Best I can tell, it's a difficult line to walk.”

... PLM