I’m at the Stanford cancer center right now. I’m sitting in a chair having my blood pumped out of my body. It’s laying across my chest and lap, on its way to a machine to filter out my blood stem cells. Another line, from the outlet on the machine, is running up my lap and chest and going back into my body. It’s rather odd (and maybe a bit grody) seeing your blood outside your body, in your lap, going in and out of your body. At times, I feel like my bones are exploding from the stem cell growth factor drug affecting my marrow.
I had to go to the infusion center last night to get a drug that encourages my blood stem cells to leave my marrow to go into my blood, so it could be collected today.
I saw my chemo chair, this one colored orange. It was in a large room that has multiple treatment chairs in it, separated by curtains, that is typical for these rooms. All types of cancer are treated in this infusion center.
I sat down in the chair, awaiting the nurse to run all the regular pre-checks, blood pressure, oxygen level, temperature, etc. She had to run off to do something else. I scooted my butt back and forth in the chair to get comfy.
The room was mostly empty, since it was at night, except for the chair next to me. Almost as soon as I sat down, a nurse went to the woman sitting next to me. I couldn’t see her, since the curtain divided the spaces, but I could hear everything.
“I have some bad news, unfortunately” said the nurse.
“Your labs just came back. It showed that your kidneys are starting to fail and your liver is in trouble. We need to run an EKG to check your heart.”
“Your tumor burden is too much for your organs.”
“We need to admit you to the hospital right now to help clear out your kidneys and liver.”
My heart went out to this woman. I wanted to get up and go over and give her a hug.
A soft sob came from the other side of the curtain.
“How long do I have to be hospitalized for?”
“We aren’t sure, at least a couple of days.”
My nurse came back.
She started saying to me, “Do you have this problem, that problem?
“No” I said, a bit guiltily.
Part of me felt guilty, I don’t know, humans are a bit odd. I guess, I was experiencing some survivor guilt? My situation has nothing to do with hers, and I suppose I could be in a similar situation in a few weeks with the nuclear bomb drop happening on me (sct).
There is really not much I could do for this person, but I still wanted to do something. The feeling of wanting to control a situation that I have absolutely no control over.
I finished my treatment. I was going to go over and just offer a few words of encouragement to this woman, after she was just crushed. But by the time I was done, so many nurses and even some family members showed up, her area was packed with people and activity.
I’m pretty sure I would have just been in the way, so I left.
I couldn’t help thinking, if my few words would had made any difference for her. Or if I wanted to say something, maybe subconsciously, just to make myself feel better about her situation.
Our time will come for all of us at some point. I’m grateful that I’ve found some peace within myself. It was just another reminder for me to be grateful for what I have and the health I have, whatever level that is.
Carrots Over Cancer 