The Chemo Chair

The Chemo chair sits with three other chemo chairs in a standard hospital room. There is one in each corner; two by the window. The chemo chair is a recliner and comes in hospital green or hospital peach. I like the chair by the window, and because hospital peach reminds me of dirty band-aids, I always try to grab a green chair.

Each room has a full-time nurse who juggles names, birthdates, admin, blood, veins, reactions and bags. She also tolerates patients who are angry with her or with the system. And she tries to understand and assist the patients who are teary eyed and weak.

When starting a chemo session for a patient, sometimes the nurse misses a vein and calls for another nurse; sometimes that nurse misses a vein and calls for another nurse too. Otherwise, as long as everything goes well there's one nurse to four chemo chairs. The nurse, who is usually dressed in nursing clothes or even casual gym clothes, has a special realtionship with her thick, blue, waxy gown and gloves. Each time she hangs a bag of Chemical Therapy, say Carbolplation or Paclitaxol, she must suit up. Just like we do when we're working with Asebestos. The protocol exists in case the bag breaks. If it does, it may burn her or get into her eyes; it may also give her cancer.

Sometimes, I sit and look at the other patients in the other chairs and wonder about them. Sometimes I try to avoid their stares because I know they're looking at me and wondering about me. Sometimes someone who still has their hair and is relatively new to the process stares a lot at everyone else in the room as if to wonder if she too will share our look some day soon.

Sometimes, I get scheduled with a preacher and I listen. Other times I'm with another mother and we talk. Sometimes the ESL patients struggle to understand and everyone wants to help the nurse explain at the same time. Other times, there is one guy in the room who wants to take care of everyone. Most times, though, there is silence among us.