I’m new to this cancer thing, but there’s one thing I
noticed right off the bat. Cancer is a real buzz kill.
What a roller coaster experience of everything I never
wanted to deal with, clubs I never wanted to join and drugs I never wanted to
take. (They could at least be fun drugs, but no.)
If you've never spent time in an infusion room, you’re
lucky. It’s not a bad place, really. It’s
comfortable and clean with friendly staff at your beck and call, and you’re
welcome to take a nap, which many do. It’s
practically a VIP lounge except for the fact that chemo cocktails are on the
menu, and not martinis. “I’ll have the Taxol, please, with a dash of Carboplatin.”
Like I said, buzz kill.
I’ve only had two chemo sessions, so I’m still chipper
with a head of hair. I hear it’s the third session that can rake your scalp
bald, but it’s different for everyone, and depends on your chemo drugs.
Where I go, I like the chairs that face towards the floor-to-ceiling windows. There’s a lovely view, especially hypnotic when the wind is
blowing through the branches of an old eucalyptus tree, rustling the leaves, Mother
Nature elegantly showing off her Zen moves.
Spending time in the infusion room, you notice another
thing about cancer. It’s an equal opportunity disease. It doesn't discriminate.
The chairs are filled with men and women, rich and poor, gangster to socialite,
all with their own stories and their own unique cancers.
A lady walks in. She quickly takes a seat and settles in.
For a second it feels like I'm in a scene from “Cheers.” Everyone knows her
name. Turns out, she’s been coming to this place for a long time. She tells me
she’s in her second year battling pancreatic cancer. She’s smiling like it’s no big deal.
Soon, she’s napping peacefully as the chemo drips into
her veins.
