Week One. It's a Wrap

"You're in the front row of the chorus line."
I like these words.
At the end of my first week, Dr F gives me the low-down on my blood tests.
They look good. Very good.
I leave the Center with a spring in my step and a big smile on my face. My first week - in the can. My body is responding, G~d is on His throne, and all's right with the world.

My schlep down the hill is uneventful. Two hours later, I pull into my driveway.
I'm home. My house, my family, my bed. Ahhhhhh.
From Friday evening to Sunday afternoon, I can relax. No infusions.

Hubster and One and Only Son prepare Shabbat dinner while I hang out on the couch. You know, I could get used to this. Costco rotisserie chicken and artichokes hit the spot. Yes, I'm a blessed woman.
 And there's more.
On Saturday evening, after a restful Shabbat day of napping, I'm treated to dinner, gifts and lots of love from Lovely Daughter, Son-In-Love, a pile of Grands (count them...5), Hubster and One and Only Son. Pre-Mother's Day, don't you know.
And there's more.
On Sunday, I'm loved on by 3 more Grands.

But now, I must pack up and take my leave. It's been a delightful weekend - too short.
Time to return to Century Wellness Center for my second week.

On Monday, the routine begins again. I meet with Dr I for an exam. All my innards are good and healthy. Recovery is progressing as planned.
As I enter the infusion room, my IV friends are there too. We've all survived our weekend, and we greet each other like college buddies returning from our weekends. We catch each other up with our stories.
Back to the business of healing.

On Tuesday, I meet with Dr M. Such a treat. His upbeat manner is good for the body and soul.
We talk about the weekend and he gives me the blood report from the test taken on Monday.
Yup, my little blood soldiers are doing their job - everyone from the Lieutenants to the Special Forces. All are carrying out their duties.
It's chemo day. Finger pokes and orange juice. Within 2 hours, I'm done.
It's a windy day. I'm ready for a little nap before I venture out to Whole Foods.

My mind goes back to the infusion room at the hospital and I can't help but become sad. Very sick people, curled up in blankets, alone and silent, enduring yet more bags of chemotherapy. Most will be there for 6 to 8 hours. And then there are the ones confined to beds in the cancer ward. Hair gone, strength gone; and many with no hope of recovery. They've given up, biding their time until their bodies can't take the stress of more poison.
Is conventional Western medicine really in the business to save lives...
I wonder.
Next: My friends and their stories.