It is the room filled with sad eyes. I’d forgotten how powerful it is….what a powerful grip those eyes have on me.
I was in the infusion room yesterday at the cancer center at Hopkins. Sitting there, visiting a friend who was waiting to get his blood results before a chemo treatment.
I’d gotten there, early, and at the time the waiting room was full. The nurses were busy trying to find empty loungers and day beds so they could keep the traffic flowing. One pod was full. The chemo pumps were clicking away and if I followed the tubing to the arms that were attached to the pumps and glanced up, I was locked onto those sad eyes.
No matter what stage of chemo, no matter how healthy or sick, a cancer patients eyes speak volumes.
Staying positive, finding hope in this room is one hard task. This is the center piece of cancers’ demise..the chemo room. This is where you go to kill the beast that is trying to kill you.
The nurses who do their jobs so well, try to keep the mood elevated, but sometimes it’s just not possible. Chemo and cancer is a hard combo to overcome.
The eyes in the room say it all.
The sparkle, the spunk, the twinkling must be down the hall.
May 18, 2011 @ 1:41 pm
As usual, Al hits the nail on the head. For those of us who need to be strong for others when we are not in the chemo room, it also proves a refuge of sorts. We are with others like us and can drop the facade and relax emotionally to some extent.
I am currently on a chemo regimen that is pills and do not go to the chemo room any more. Taking those pills at home is comparably lonesome in what is – admittedly – an odd way. It has not affected my resolve, determination or hope, but is surprisingly different.
Laurie, Thank you for keeping this blog going!
May 19, 2011 @ 5:05 pm
Judie…I give myself shots for 14 days out of each month and then take 2 weeks off. Been doing it for 6 years. Not the same as going to the chemo room but still a reminder that I am a patient….so fight on! Best of luck to you. Let us know how you are doing. If you would like the personal interactions with other patients and caregivers, try to find a support group at a local hospital or church. That might help. Again, best regards.
May 17, 2011 @ 6:52 pm
In spite of the sadness in the eyes, I still believe that everyone there has HOPE in their hearts. They will continue to come there no matter the sickness, depression, fatigue and sadness because this room, the chemo room, links them to HOPE. No one can predict who’ll respond and who will not…a real roll of the dice..but each person believes in their heart that they will be the one. They will beat the odds. They will buy some time and perhaps have a visit by NED. This is why I went to the chemo room and why so many others sit tethered to their IV poles waiting for the chemo to drip into their veins and hopefully kill the cells that are trying to kill them. It is a noble place, a place where HOPE abounds even though no one says a word about it. It may not show in their eyes but if you could look into their hearts, HOPE would be there. The “little light of HOPE” tries mightily to keep the darkness at bay. If you don’t think so, ask those who are seated there in the barcoloungers tethered to the IV poles. For many it is their only HOPE and for some their last HOPE. It is a Room of HOPE.
May 17, 2011 @ 6:17 pm
Thank goodness for friends who stand with their friends during such a trying time. The eyes may be sad, but I know the heart is filled with gratitude.