Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Live from chemotherapy room 9
What I see in front of me (in chemo room 9): a stool on casters, a computer, a sink, two syringes of heparin on the counter (they will be used to flush the port at the end of chemotherapy), a TV mounted high in the corner, a very large window with vertical blinds and condensation along the bottom, a young philodendron plant hanging from the ceiling, (out the window) the last story of a yellow brick building and 3'x6' of bright gray sky.
What I hear behind me (the hallway outside chemo room 9): the Price is Right blaring from chemo room 8, the beeping of another's infusion pump, a discussion of possible nerve damage in the fingertips as caused by chemotherapy, a discussion of a mega splinter in someone's hand, jokes with a patient about how he "lives here" and needs a wheelbarrow to wrangle his chart, a toilet flushing, a pen dropping, a phone ringing, a plastic grocery bag scrunching, a nurse laughing.
What I smell: coffee, rubbing alcohol, floral-scented hand lotion.
What I taste: coffee, orange juice.
What I feel: a warm laptop in my lap, sore fingertips, muscles that are tired of sitting, chilly liquids entering my body through the port, heavy eyelids, sleepiness.
Here we go again. Halfway to the finish line!