Triumphant or Troubling?

Another protein day at the Chemo Barn!

My friend, Chris, took me, as she has for almost all of my protein appointments. She makes the time pleasant for me, though the Chemo Barn itself is not. And that's the subject of this post.

Flash back to my genetic counseling appointment. That guy offered a few tips about the road ahead of me that have proved more helpful than anything a doctor or nurse has told me. For instance:

He told me not to believe anyone who says that "such and such" caused my cancer--not my deodorant, not my underwire bra, not my laundry soap. There's no science to support any of these urban myths.

He told me to steer clear of the "dark clouds" in my life. e.g. People who will be sad, sad, sad for me and full of fear and pessimism. No dark cloud has come by me all this time, I'm glad to say. But still. Helpful tip.

He told me to beware of the "nuts and berries" friends who would try to be helpful by telling me to pursue all sorts of alternative therapies and avoid the very treatment that has been scientifically demonstrated to work.

He, as I mentioned, told me about how terrific the post-restorative surgery women looked. That was very helpful.

Then I asked him how he liked his job. He was, after all, going through this practical, encouraging spiel when the purpose of the appointment was simply to explain the genetic test I was submitting too. Obviously, he was into talking beyond the requirements.

He said he loved his work because he loved cancer patients. "Only really nice people get cancer. No one nasty or selfish gets it. Only the bright, brave, cheerful, nice people."

What a strange statement.

Flash forward to chemo round 4, I believe, whence I met Shannon, a nurse who was new at the center. She explained that she'd been in the Springs for a while and had been at a different job, waiting and hoping for a position in oncology to open up.

"Really?" I asked. "You want to work in a chemo barn like this?" I don't know what I'd been thinking about the other nurses, why they were there. But the suggestion that someone would seek out the opportunity to spend 40 hours a week around cancerous people getting doped with poison was just. . .far beyond me.

Shannon said that she loved oncology units because she loves cancer patients. We're so "courageous" and "full of life."

Today, Chris, who knows well my own take on the chemo barn, said that she, too, had different opinion of it. She wasn't sitting there with cancer, she said, so maybe that's why she had a different outlook. (But her husband is a "ventricular" cancer survivor from way back, when they were both in their early 20's with 2 young children, so she is allowed to have an opinion on this.)

Chris said she looked around and saw the triumph of the human spirit, and God's grace, and great strength.

Well.

Maybe we should take a poll in the chemo barn and see what other patients feel.

I talked with one a few Mondays ago, Jeannie. She was there my first round of chemo. It was her last one. She watched me get poked 24 times and told me that she'd never seen anyone have that hard a time. Jeannie was there to start more chemo. Stage 4 colon cancer. She'll be doing chemo 'till the end.

I said, "You told me on your way out that first day that it'd get better. And it did. But I still hate this place."

She laughed wryly and said that she did, too.

So we know how she'd vote. And you all know how I think most of the others would vote.

All of which comes to an observation: Those who care for those of us who have cancer see something that we patients do not.

And those of us who have cancer see something that the healthy among us do not.

What I'm interested to see is whether my perspective shifts closer to Chris's after my chemo is over and I'm just going every 3 weeks for the Herceptin. e.g. Once I'm feeling great, will I see what she sees and start seeing a lot less of what I see now?

In the meantime, I'm glad to be cared for by people who are glad to be in the Chemo Barn. Even if I do think they're a little crazy.