Just Another Tuesday

As I write this, it is about 10:15 on a Tuesday morning. As I write this, my father is sitting in a large, fairly comfortable reclining chair. He has been lightly dozing for over an hour, the result of several milligrams of Benadryl having been dripped into his veins through an intravenous line. That drug in turn has been followed by his standard chemotherapeutic cocktail of Taxol and Carboplatin. This is, if I am correct, his fifth such infusion.

The entire treatment will last at least five hours, after which my father will go home, sleep, and probably awaken tomorrow to feel—to use his own words—“like shit.” Such is a typical post–chemotherapy state, for my dad and most other chemo recipients. This isn’t surprising when you appreciate that chemotherapuetic drugs are powerful toxins whoses goal is to poison malignant cells—hopefully without poisoning the healthy host cells (the patient) too much.

Through all this my mother simply waits. Perhaps she will wander over to nearby Broadway Plaza and shop a bit or grab a meal. But, on the whole, she will just wait. Alone. Then she will drive them the thirty minutes or so back to their home.

So, how is your day going?