Ha! I was back to being Vainessa. I knew there were too many worse parts of chemo for me…the vomiting, the nausea, the lack of control of what was going in my body, but most importantly, I was going to lose my hair. Well, not really lose it, I knew where it would be – in the trash!
Despite all my worrying, waiting and wondering…the day arrived.
I brought my mother and my aunt with me to the oncologist’s office that day. These are two of the funniest women I know. My mom has always made me laugh at the most dire times of my life. I remember when I was twelve and I had my appendix removed. Oh, those stitches hurt, all across my belly, making it hard to laugh or take a deep breathe. When my mom came to visit me in the hospital after the surgery she brought me a joke book. A funny joke book…what kind of person does this to their child…I’ll tell you…the kind of person that loves their child so much that they can’t even imagine them ill or in pain, oh, and a funny person.
We were quite the site. Laughing and joking in the waiting room, other patients were chiming in with us and laughing along with us. I think it should be a rule in doctor’s offices that there be live, humorous entertainment that the doctor MUST provide. After all, they have no problem making us wait endless for them at the very least they should provide us with better entertainment than outdated magazines that are at best palatable and at worst, insulting. Give me some humor. On that day, everyone appreciated the humor of we three women. After the phlebotomist drew my blood we were shuffled to a small room where we WAITED some more. Isn’t it the truth though, all of this doctor stuff is about hurry up and wait.
While we are waiting a woman from the big waiting room comes up to our room. I thought this was a little over the top. We were funny, but not that funny. Why was she tracking us down?
“I was told I should be in this room” she announced. Now I got to tell you, I was impressed. Perhaps she thought if she said it firmly enough we would leave.
“Come join us,” I offer, the consummate peacemaker,” there is room for more.” I lied, but it was a desperate circumstance, I wasn’t giving up my room!
“I’m Lisa, this is Phyllis and Emelia,” I offer.
“Hello,” she responded. Nothing more, no name, no nothing! Where did she go to finishing school? “What are you in for?” she asks. Realizing her mistake immediately she offers, “I have too much blood.”
Shit! My brother-in-law, can’t make enough blood. We found a match! Call the guards, let’s get her over to Adam’s we can set up some sort of Frankenstein castle and make the swap. They will both benefit and we can get the hell our of the doctor’s office…back to reality.
“Oh, really. I just need chemo,” if she only knew what I was thinking. I could see it now, her with one aluminum hat on and Adam with the other. Flip the switch and IT IS A-LIVE!
“Can I ask what for?” You can ask.
“Breast cancer,” is my solemn reply.
“I’m sorry,” her solemn response…everyone’s response.
Flip the switch…
The nurse arrives to inform us that by sharing conversation we are in breach of our HIPPA agreement and our guest must leave. (For more on HIPA see ridiculous rules to protect insurance companies and doctors made to seem like they are protecting your privacy…(read the small print!) Ha! It was my room.
Enter the oncologist. Time to go to chemo, any questions?
Yeah, just one. How do I get out of this? No, really, just lead me to the place I need to be.
And so, it begins. I go into this 10 x 15 room with four other chemo patients and my mother and aunt in tow. There is not much room, but we make do. I think how odd that we are all sitting in a small circle in varying stages of cancer cure and no one says a word, so I begin by saying hi to the guy next to me and before I know it my mother and aunt are shaking everyone’s hands and saying hello.
“Let the games begin.”
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