Chemotherapy Ward: Facing My Worst Fears

Shafts of light from rows of windows illuminate the sterile room. A sallow-faced woman hooked up to an intravenous drip slouches in a oversized lounge chair.  Her bald head, cloaked by a crocheted hat, droops on her chest.  A toxic cocktail of drugs surges through her body as she naps.

A tube winds from a plastic bag to a port, a small disk inserted under the skin in her chest.  The drugs sap her strength and drain her energy.  From her looks, she appears to be in her 70's.  It's only a guess because cancer and chemotherapy sabotage the body, affecting your physical appearance.

As I approach the petite woman, I observe the hushed conversations swirling around patients seated in adjoining chairs.  Some patients read to pass the time.  Others watch television or listen to music.  The fortune ones have family sitting in comfortable chairs next to them, chatting quietly.

When I reach the woman, I see a blanket hugs her tiny frame.  She is experiencing chills. However, there are worst side effects.  Vomiting and nausea are the most common.  But the list of reactions is long: fatigue, infection, anemia, loss of appetite, digestive distress, anxiety and hair loss.  And more.

The anonymous woman is in the Infusion Center at the Mays Cancer Center in San Antonio, a facility affiliated with the UT Health Center and MD Anderson. I am present as a volunteer, offering snacks to patients.  It isn't my first visit to a chemotherapy ward.  But I still feel awkward and nervous.

The woman opens her sleepy eyes as I roll the squeaky snack car near her chair.  I tick off a list of snacks and surprisingly she opts for the ice cream.  With seemingly great effort, she stretches out her withered hand to receive the plastic cup.  She offers her thanks and a smile that warms the room.

As I move from patient to patient, I am amazed by their spunk, their grit.  They are determined to battle this cruel disease on their own terms.  One patient is dressed as if she is attending a fancy charity ball.  I remark on her colorful outfit.  "I won't let cancer define who I am," she says.

Some family and friends faithfully accompany patients to each treatment.  These angels of mercy kibitz with their loved ones, providing a welcome distraction. But it is the patients who are fighting alone who tug at my heartstrings.  Who consoles these souls?  I pray they will be comforted.

These patients are hidden from most of society who will never view the inside of a cancer treatment facility.  Their sufferings go unnoticed and unrecorded except by the doctors, nurses and families who care for them.  Perhaps, if more people witnessed, the war on cancer would be our nation's priority.

According to the American Cancer Society, the latest figures show there were an estimated 1,688,780 new cases of cancer reported in the United States in 2017.  That same year cancer claimed 600,920 lives.  It is our nation's second leading cause of death, eclipsed only by heart disease.

Older Americans, like the fragile patient snuggled in the blanket, are especially prone to the disease as they age. Seventy-five percent of all newly diagnosed cancers occur in people aged 60 and over, according to research by the World Health Organization (WHO).

For many patients, chemotherapy is the regimen of treatment.  A powerful legion of drugs is administered to patients to target cancer cells.  Unfortunately, these drugs also affect healthy cells, weakening the immune system.  In the best outcomes, chemo wipes out cancer cells forever.

Those are the lucky ones.  For others, the chemotherapy cannot cure or arrest the spread of cancer. Potent drugs may temporarily shrink tumors, but they often return with a vengeance.  However, if the cancer is detected early enough, chemo saves lives, even as it ravages the body, mind and soul.

I focus on good outcomes as I greet each patient in the Infusion Center. I find hope in this place that once depressed me. Suffering exists but so does healing. I cringe when I contemplate I may end up here one day.  Good health is no guarantee. Cancer is an insidious evil always hunting new victims.

There are even occasions of joy in this antiseptic place.  When patients complete their last course of treatment, they ring a Victory Bell as they exit the Infusion Center.  Often family and friends are there to celebrate.  A loved one usually videos the ceremony to preserve this triumph of life.

Now that I have been roaming the cancer treatment facilities at the Mays center for several years, I have a new perspective.  I see the patients as part of our community, not diseased, anonymous individuals. They are fathers, mothers, sons and daughters.  Their sole purpose is to beat cancer.

Their lifespan is measured not in years or months or even days.  Each hour is a blessing to be cherished.  My brief encounters with these courageous patients are inspirational.  I forget whatever troubles have squeezed into my life.  They are trivial compared to fighting for another day of life.

When I reflect on the beginning of this volunteer journey, I am embarrassed I was reluctant to venture into the unknown realm of a cancer ward.  However, with introspection and time, now I look forward to seeing these warriors.  I realize I am among heroes and heroines.  That is my reward.