Chemo round #2. There was a curtain on my cubicle today, and I asked that it be drawn, for privacy and also to avoid the distraction of seeing everyone coming and going in front of my sight line. I wanted to focus on the experience. The pellucid sunlight poured in through the large window, turning what might have merely been white medical sterility into a cocoon of brightness that was surprisingly soothing, like an aircraft high above the clouds. Midway through my procedure, I heard the sound of a gong echoing down the corridor, accompanied by a cacophony of cheers and clapping. A purely joyful sound. Someone had finished their l final round of chemotherapy and were sent home for the last time. Unsurprisingly, it moved me deeply, and I teared up a bit—not only in anticipation of that happening for me, but also in the spirt of shared joy of triumph over illness that seems to run through the veins of this blessed hospital like quicksilver. I'm glad I had my dark glasses, because my eyes were a bit sore afterwards, and the sunlight was so bright. I don't know who hit the gong that hard, but I hope it felt wonderful, and I hope they felt all of our love. Today's angel was a nurse named Margareta who had that quality I admire most in a nurse—the ability to take care of a patient while allowing them the dignity of autonomy. There's a lot of that going around at Princess Margaret, thank God. So now I'm home resting, with my carbuncle of a portable chemo thermos—Flo #2, so named in honour of my friend Jen McCarthy, who named hers "Flo." No negative effects yet, and feeling strong, though the side-effects may kick in later this evening. But if they do, I've got the drugs to knock them into next week. #fuckcancer
