After one week’s delay due to extremely low white blood cell counts, I was finally able to undergo my second round of chemo treatment today. Yesterday, I again needed to have my central port IV line cleared with more blood thinners to enable blood tests for chemo prep.

The chemotherapy treatment centre is an interesting place of contrasts. The environment is one of serious medicine in treating life-threatening cancer diagnoses combined with cheery surroundings and calm. Several devoted chemotherapy nurses work very hard to allay patient fears, provide education, and bring comfort and hope in a time of angst.

The treatment room faces south. The wall of windows lets warm rays of sunshine light up the room and creates cozy comfort. On cloudy days, you can watch the clouds change colour and dance in formation across the city’s prairie sky.

There is a reception desk, a small waiting area, bathrooms, two treatment bays of four recliners each, two beds, and three private treatment rooms. A nursing station sits in the corner for nurses to observe patients, do the required patient paperwork, and field phone calls. IV poles and pumps, syringe disposal containers, medical supply carts, and garbage cans round out the ambience of the room at each station. From Monday to Friday anywhere from 30-70 cancer patients are treated daily at the facility.

A classical guitarist may come by and provide soothing music to relax patients undergoing treatment. Overhead t.v.’s can be accessed to distract patients from witnessing deadly poison being injected into their veins to chase and kill cancer cells.

The nurses are constantly available to field questions and to provide assurance to patients with their treatments. If one is cold, heated blankets are available to soothe your chilled body to warmth. An array of magazines are available should one wish to read. Facial tissue boxes are placed at each treatment station, along with a visitor’s chair.

Some patients bring in their own distractions, which may include personal portable DVD players or laptop computers. Others choose to play cards or do crossword puzzles. Some patients simply visit with their companions who drove them to their treatment.

Volunteers from the cancer care program stand by eagerly waiting to hand out patient treats of juices, tea, coffee, and cookies. If you’re being infused over the lunch hour, you will be asked if you want a cup of hot soup and crackers. At the food station, water is on standby to hydrate patients to aid in flushing chemotherapy out of the body. Crushed ice is available to help minimize side effects of some chemotherapy drugs while one is being treated.

The spectrum of patients being treated includes occasional young adults, and a few middle-agers. A good majority of patients who are receiving chemo are seniors. In my early 50’s, I feel young and old amongst the group being treated depending on the patient mix on the days I’m there.

On my first visit, a chemotherapy nurse whose homeland is Korea treated me. She came to the chemo unit four years ago via nursing stints in intensive care and oncology wards. She was kind, upbeat, and very thorough in her teachings about the three chemotherapy drugs that would be sequentially injected into my body.

Today’s treatment was slightly different than the first time. My chemo nurse came to the centre via Lethbridge three years ago in association with her husband’s work transfer to our city. She was kind, attentive, compassionate, and made sure I was comfortable. It took three heated blankets before I was warm today--the coldness likely came as a result of getting up too early on the treatment day anticipating what was to come.

Today also featured an orientation on how to inject neuprogen—the blood cell boost medication I am required to take on days four to ten of each chemo cycle to prevent my white cell count from dipping too low and delaying treatments. This medication is made from e-coli bacteria and requires delicate handling and refrigeration.

With neuprogen, my husband adds another needle medication to the blood thinners that he has to inject me with each morning. I simply can’t give myself these needles. I get lightheaded each time I get a needle, and have been advised by my treatment nurse to lie down for a few minutes after each injection until I rebound.

When neuprogen is added to the daily blood thinner injections, the supporting drug costs in addition to the anti-nausea steroids is over $2,400 a month. I can’t imagine what the costs of the chemo prescriptions are. Our medicare system and the cancer treatment unit cover the costs of some of these drugs, but not all of them. This cancer fight is not only taxing on the body and spirit, but also on the cheque book.

Two chemo treatments are completed. There are four more to go. I take small steps forward in continuing to walk in this cancer journey with Strength, Courage, and Determination.