The Saturday Before Christmas in the Infusion Room

[Val*pal]

This morning I accompanied my husband to the University of Michigan Cancer Center in Ann Arbor for his first blood transfusion. His most recent blood draws revealed his RBC to be 8.4, and since he has been having a heck of a time with a lack of stamina and energy, the oncologist decided to order a transfusion.

Since it was a Saturday, there were only a few patients and the place was so quiet compared to the weekdays when it is a beehive of activity. It gave me a chance to really observe my husband's fellow patients.

Once his paperwork was processed, we were brought back to the "sun parlor" infusion room, an area with which we're very familiar. However, it seemed a lot different today. For one thing, instead of the usual pale sunshine we normally see, we were arrayed against the rain covered windows. Temperatures were hovering above freezing, so we were thankful it was not ice, but it didn't make for a festive holiday feeling either.

Of the few patients who were there, I'd say fifty percent received blood transfusions like my husband, and the other fifty percent received chemo.

Down the room from us was one woman who received a chemo infusion. She wore a head scarf that made me think she might have breast cancer since it appears that breast cancer chemo really affects the hair. She appeared very weak. Her husband had to help her to eat a bagel since her hands were shaking whenever she tried to bring the bread to her mouth. They seemed relaxed and content.

Next to us was a couple a bit older than us. They had driven 1 hour and 45 minutes to get to today's appointment. Like my husband, the wife was receiving a blood transfusion, and she was very apprehensive since she didn't like the idea of having to accept someone else's blood. My husband felt the same way, but wasn't extremely apprehensive. However, once the woman's blood transfusion started, she seemed to relax a bit. By the time we left, she was cracking jokes with the nurses. I hope they managed to get home north of here before the temps dropped to below freezing.

To our right, a young woman came in and was given a short infusion. I've always wondered why some chemo infusions only last about 15-30 minutes, but I haven't asked. She was stunningly beautiful, well dressed, and in full makeup. The minute the nurses got her settled, she went on her phone and shared wedding updates with a friend. She was giddy over the fact that she had found the "perfect" wedding shoes on Amazon for a great price and they were available in her size. I also heard her talking about her planned honeymoon to the "D.R." which I took to be the Dominican Republic. It sounded as though she worked in the medical field and possibly at the U of M Hospital. Once her short infusion was done, she was left quickly in a rush to meet friends.

Later, a woman who appeared to be in her fifties arrived. She was also set for a short infusion, and it was apparent that she was impatient to have it done and over with so that she could continue her Christmas shopping. Unlike most of the patients, she had one of those voices that put your nerves on edge with a slightly detectable tone of condescension. I don't honestly see too many people there who are difficult, but she was bordering on it. However, perhaps since I don't know her whole story, this has been a very long process, something that she finds annoying. It is hard to always be polite when your illness won't let you go.

My husband did very well. He didn't like the idea of accepting someone else's blood, but he didn't dwell on it. The only thing he hated was the fact that the blood transfusion had to be accomplished using an arm vein, not his port. He detests needles. However, they gave him some Benadryl to help offset any possible reactions to the preservatives in the blood, and he was soon sleeping.

Though I've gotten used to the fact that there are many people out there like my husband who live with cancer every day, today it did seem more poignant with Christmas so close. All of the patients struggle daily with side effects and discomfort, but they mostly come in for infusions with a calmness that I still find humbling.

I can't get away from the thought that we're all living in an underground world that many people never have to enter.

[chrissyrice]

Your last sentence really broke my heart... so true. Until you enter an infusion room as a patient or caregiver it is a place like no other here on earth.

thanks for this. helps to remember and beautifully written.

Chrissy

[justin case]

One of the things that always hit me in the infusion room, was everyone was just trying to get through their personal ordeal. To some, at least in my case, I was not at all used to sitting in a chair for 6 hours. I never took my phone, there was no TV, so I read a book, and nibbled on hard candies. I saw a few holidays come and go, but the only sad times I remember, was when I went to the museums one day. Now that I was able to see the faces of cancer patients, and their families, it was easy to recognize the children going through the same things I had encountered. Of course the museum district in Houston is very close to M.D. Anderson, and I saw families from distant countries looking for some solace, from the infusion rooms, and the children smiled in wonderment, at all the new exhibits. It was not hard to gain inspiration, from those bald children, and their big smiles.
Merry Christmas to the children,
Regards,
Michael

[lorrainem]

So well said and beautifully written. It is an "underground" sort of world isn't it? An exclusive club nobody ever wants to join. I don't know where it would be appropriate to publish your post, but it should definitely be shared.
Wishing for a smooth holiday and a better new year.

[dianne052506]

The only thing he hated was the fact that the blood transfusion had to be accomplished using an arm vein, not his port

I've had two transfusions and both were done through my port. Wonder why the difference?
Dianne

[WorriedWife]

I can't get away from the thought that we're all living in an underground world that many people never have to enter.

Underground world - Perfect words to describe the way my hubby and I feel right now and for the last year and half since his surgery that messed him up somehow. I try to put into words to my mom and others how our life really is. Thank you so much for these words. I will now have a way to explain it.

My prayers are with you.