I went to chemo all by myself today, and it turned out to be a very productive, relaxing afternoon. I used to cringe with dread when I saw the signs at the oncology clinic for the "infusion rooms," but now I think it might be OK after all. You get a comfy, adjustable chair with a table next to it and a curtain to pull around your cubicle for privacy if you want it. It sure beats walking around with a heavy backpack full of toxic liquids for a full week. And the nurses who work there are incredibly nice.
Here's what I got done:
* Read yesterday's New York Times.
* Caught up on some thank-you notes.
* Sorted through all the records from my chart to cull out the reports I need to bring for my appointment at the Mayo Clinic on Sept. 5.
* Started a romance novel by Emma Darcy. (What a great pen name!)
I've seen some children in the infusion rooms, and I notice how well they are treated by the nurses. Stickers, juice, soothing words ... it's good to see. I can't imagine what it would be like if Ben or Daniel had cancer and had to go through chemo. Any child, for that matter. It puts things in perspective and makes me feel less sorry for myself.