Beautifully Written

This was written by someone else but I found it so nice that I asked if I could post this here and she said yes.
Having enjoyed a beautiful Easter with my family and friends, the weekend
ended way too soon. The girls started back to school and Ronnie went back to
work. I returned to chemo. I had to force the car to drive there yesterday
because I would have enjoyed nothing better than staying at home playing with
the horses and piddling around the house. It's over an hour to drive to the
hospital and some days it is a rather lonely trip. Other days I enjoy being
lost with my thoughts. Yesterday, was a little of both. I was dreading
treatment but imagining the good that it will do.

When I got to the office, Deb gave me a huge smile and a hug. My
trepidation disappeared. Thank heavens for wonderful nurses! She told me that they
were doing some redecorating and we'd soon be getting new infusion chairs.
I've not given much thought to the soon to be replaced chair even though I've
sat in it more times than I can count. It's a bluish-green color that isn't
exactly inviting but isn't drab either. It has a serious demeanor with a tray
in front; clinical but comfortable. Not quite worn out but dimpled in the
cushions and aged more than some I've seen. I started thinking about the old
saying if these walls could talk and began to wonder about the arms of these
chairs. With four or five patients every single day, more than 100 lives are
cushioned in each every given month. That's a lot of living! I've done my
share of living while getting infused. There have been times when I sought
comfort from the high back and would relax comfortably in it's hug, determined
that the chemo dripping into my body was melting tumors. Other times when I
knew that my cancer was progressing, but hoped that the next concoction to be
given in that very chair would bring more time and hope. I have experienced
both dread and anticipation between those arms. There have been days where I
literally had to make myself sit there. wanting to be anywhere and everywhere
else. I have been mad and glad, scared and tired, sick and frustrated,
excited and hopeful in that one silly chair. I've slept there, rested there, and
experienced every emotion under the sun sitting in the dimpled cushion of that
chair. I've dreamed of my children and family, wished many wishes, and
prayed many a prayer while sitting there. I've read books, listened to music, and
met new friends.

As I sat in it yesterday the chair next to me saw two other patients come
and go. The first was in and out fairly quickly....an old pro with this
routine. The second was there for the first time and diagnosed with stage IV
colorectal cancer. She found out just before the birth of her son and is only 33
years old. Her husband was with her and at first I heard determination in the
voice through the curtain but as the newness of what was happening began to
settle in the voice became shakier. Questions filled the air. Will this
make her sick? Will her hair fall out? How long until it works and how many
treatments until she's done? Answers that had probably already been given a
few times over but often come with different responses. I heard her husband's
voice waver slightly and then he asked if she thought she would be ok if he
left to call and check on the baby and work. My mind traveled back to those
tearful first visits to chemo that now seem a lifetime ago and the emotions
that Ronnie and I shared together all from a similar chair. We would ride home
with my head against his shoulder and his arm on my leg. I would sleep or
pretend to sleep so that we could act as though what just happened hadn't.
Sometimes I would cry silently and sometimes we would cry together. And then
there were the celebrations when all in the world was right and news was
good. I lived, and still live, for moments like those. My thoughts were drawn
to the girl next door. I heard sniffling and an effort to hold back tears.
She was alone. I let her cry for a minute or two and then asked if she would
mind company. I parted the curtains and we began to talk. We exchanged phone
numbers and by the time her husband was back life stories. I saw the relief
in his face when he saw her smile. A good feeling....all from the support of
a comfy old chair.