The Room of Hope

Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Cancer Book

BY: Al Cato

The Barcaloungers sit erect with their rigid arms permanently extended, as if in supplication, awaiting the next assortment of chemical bags to be draped upon them. The quiet in the large room seems incongruous to the fear and dread that will soon fill it. Each of the thirty small cubicles is equipped to make a patient comfortable while the fluids trickle slowly down the plastic tubes and into their veins. Muted sounds come from the TVs, distracting the patients as the hours pass slowly by.

The nurses move quickly from station to station, their soft rubber soles squishing on the linoleum. There is a calm to their work, but it still conveys an urgency and efficiency to get each of their patients properly tethered to their respective IV poles. They do this everyday with multiple shifts. It seems like an assembly line but they know that each patient is unique. They possess a gentle touch and soft words, with an expertise that says, "I will get you through this and make it as painless as possible."

Fear and depression accompany hope and optimism.

"Will I be sick?"

"Can I tolerate the drugs?"

"Will I lose my hair?"

"Is this the beginning of the end?"

"What will happen to my family when I'm gone?"

"Will I suffer?"

"Is there a realistic reason to be hopeful?"

"Can I get drugs to ease the side effects?"

"What do I do next if this fails?"

The list seems endless. Some questions have answers, but many do not. In spite of that, there is a tiny flame of hope that burns and refuses to be extinguished. It's resilient and pushes against the darkness. It takes nourishment from any and all victories, however small they may be.

"I made it through another chemo day."

"My scans are stable, no new growth."

"I have an appetite today."

"I was able to get up and take a shower."

"The birds are singing and the flowers look beautiful."

"My grandchildren are coming to visit."

Across this great country, in thousands of chemo rooms, patients struggle to survive. They seek the normalcy they were accustomed to before cancer. Sadly for most, their old lives are gone forever. The normalcy they seek is but a memory.

Is it better or worse than before? It is just different because the experience has made us that way.

Many of us have visited the chemo room. It was never a place to be enjoyed. The chemicals bring sickness and suffering. Many of us began the first step of our cancer journey right here. In most cases, it's lived up to its infamous reputation.

For me, with Stage IIIb melanoma, Stage I renal cell carcinoma and Stage I adenocarcinoma, it certainly has.

I believe that chemo rooms are truly rooms of hope, that the chemicals will do their job and kill the cancer cells, and upon completion of the chemo the scans will show that no evidence of disease remains. Chemo rooms offer the hope that the chemicals can slow down cancer's proliferation in our body and buy us some time. They offer hope that this drug will work after others have failed.

Hope does abound in a chemo room! Hope is the fuel and the energy of our souls. Let us sustain and nurture the tiny flame of hope and keep the darkness at bay.

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2011/01/The-Room-of-Hope.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter&utm_term=mail.ru