Top of the Tenth

Chemotherapy day again. Tenth treatment, day one, aka Cycle 5-15.

We are at the clinic. MaryAnn got things going for him today...access his port, draw blood to make sure his counts are high enough for a treatment, get the pre-meds that hold off the worst of the nausea and possible allergy reactions, then start the chemotherapy drugs (Leucovorin and Oxaliplatin) before the 5-FU "push."

Kev is physically and emotionally sick & tired of chemotherapy so the

"F-YOU" aspect of 5-FU is strong today.

He's napping now with about 45 minutes to go in his IV infusion. Then he gets the 5-FU push and the hated infusion pump is hooked up for the next 46 hours.

So we are already focused on Thursday, May 15, around 10:30. That's about when the pump will be due to come off. "De-accessed," as they say.

Spring has arrived in the garden here at the clinic. Azaleas and bleeding hearts are in bloom with Japanese iris in heavy bud.

As I walked back from the garden, I overheard the celebrations of a family we've seen off and on through Kevin's 5 months here in the Ohio clinic. Their patient's cancer has shrunk to being "non-detectable" which means the treatments are working. Not finished. No guarantees. But "working" is cause for laughter, hugs and a discrete happy dance by a tired looking daughter of the older patient.

Cancer creates it's own sort of social network and bonding. As I walk back to Kevin's cubicle, I notice the impact of the news--"non-detectable, working"--on the 7 other groups here today. No one seems to know any of the other groups by name; we identify through weeks and months of nods and brief comments on side effects and weather and the knowledge of common experience.

Yet, today, 7 groups of strangers are joined together for a moment of smiles and whispered repeats of "they have good news...non-detectable...it's working..." There are nods of heads and smiles exchanged as we catch one another's eye.

Spring has, indeed, sprung at the cancer center. New life and new hope abound.