Neighbors

I'm sitting in a blue plastic recliner as I type this. There's a woman to my right who's throwing up -- retching & retching into a bowl. They closed the curtain around her once she started. She sounds pretty miserable.

Between me and the throwing up lady there's a man who's getting ready to receive his first-ever chemotherapy. He's wearing shiny black shoes and dress socks, black slacks, and a Bill Cosby sweater. He's nervous.

The woman to my immediate right has failed her blood test, and so they're unhooking her. They won't give her chemo this week. The nurse told her that she's "free", and wanted to know what the patient was going to do to celebrate. The patient said that she hopes to be able to eat this week.

So, I'm sitting in a blue plastic recliner, and a nurse just hung the Benadryl. I'll be sleeping soon. Chemo sucks. Lymphedema sucks, too. I've been told that, once fitted, I'll need to wear a stocking-like sleeve and glove on my arm and hand... all of my waking, non-shower hours... everyday.... for the rest of my life.

BUT... when Eric and I leave here, we're driving to Reno. I don't think that Retching Lady is going to Reno. New Guy isn't going to go gamble after this -- he's going home to wait and worry. Blood Failure Lady isn't going to the 24-hour diner at the Atlantis, after a late night at the craps table. She's going to try to keep down a few crackers and sips of water.

And all of them are here alone. I'm the only person here with Eric.

I'm getting sleepy, sleepy, already. It's not just drowsiness, either. It's like a ton o' bricks. But, really... REALLY... I can't complain.