Today I enter a room with seven recliners arranged in a circle. Four are gray and three are tan with a geometric design; each one with its own IV standing as a guard towering over its prisoner. There are people coming in and out with different treatments…some are long, some are short, some have to come everyday, some like me only come every three weeks.  

     Each station has a white ladder back chair for loved ones or personal items to be stored.  The room is bright and decorated elegantly with several windows and a patio so patients can get out for some fresh air.  The walls are decorated with tasteful pictures and classic neutral wallpaper.  The biggest and most visible picture in the room has a caption that says Hope has Power in bold letters.  Under the heading are the words: “Dreams are renewable no matter what our age or condition, there are untapped possibilities within us and new beauty waiting to be born.” Over these words there is a picture of an enormous crashing wave that visually shows the power of hope.  This is not a morbid place even though each person has faced death as a possibility.  It is a place of hope and courage.  As I watch I am inspired by everyone in the room.  Some look sicklier than others but all are in the fight.  There are people there younger than me and some much older.  One girl comes in crying, after a word of encouragement from the nurse she settles in to do battle through the tubes in her arms once again.      Although this is a hopeful room is also a hard place.  I have to close my eyes at times so I don’t see the pain that is so evident in the faces.  I am not the only one afraid here.  It is the same dichotomy I see in my own struggle between faith and fear.  Everyone here is living it too because this enemy called cancer is no respecter of persons.  There is a small refrigerator for storing juice and lunches for those of us that have to be here all day. 

     A coffee pot, water cooler and basket of snacks sit on the counter top over the fridge in an attempt to give a homey feel to a sterile place.  There is a bookshelf with blankets, horseshoe neck pillows and magazines to make patients more comfortable as they do battle.  In the back of the room is the nurse’s station with the computers that keep all the treatment schedules for everyone in the room.  A CD player is playing elevator music (not my favorite) in the room and there is an adjoining room with a TV to take your mind off of the treatment.

     I am afraid as I enter this new environment with my chin held up to hold myself together.  The nurses already know that I am anxious…they say everyone is their first time.  That helps me…a little.  I find out that I will be getting medication for six straight hours and that makes the fear grow.  They put an ice pack on my port since it is still sore from surgery.  This is to numb the area before they have to stick it. They hook me up using my port.  It only hurts for a second or two, until they add medication and then it stings badly.  I find out that this is not normal…they missed the port and the medicine is pumping into my shoulder.       After the second try all is well and my pre-meds start pumping.  I have three that I have to get as preparation to ward-off side effects before they start.  They make me sleepy so I rest for awhile.  Then they add the big chemical.  They have to watch me closely for 15 minutes to make sure I don’t have an allergic reaction.  I do not…yeah!  This one will take 2 1/2 hours to get in.  After an hour or so I start to have a warm feeling in my hands and feet.  It then travels throughout my body.  It isn’t a problem according to the nurse.  I feel weak and tired, so I rest. My arms feel heavy and I can’t really move a lot. When Bill brings lunch he says I am pale and peaked.  After I eat I am some better and the big medicine is finished.  Next one starts and will take another hour to finish.  Not as many side effects as this one goes in.  I start to feel back to normal as it gets closer to being finished.  Saline solution has to go through to wash everything out. Then I am done.  Only five treatments left to go!