In the early stages of my treatment, radiation and chemotherapy worked in concert to attack my cancer. The treatments themselves weren’t painful, but they left me grappling with deep nausea, crushing fatigue, and a sense that life had lost its color. I remember the afternoons spent staring at bland wallpaper, wondering if I would ever taste a fresh apple again or find joy in my favorite song.
Thank you for reading this post, don't forget to subscribe!Throughout those outpatient treatments, the nurses never coaxed me to eat or smile. They simply showed up with cookies, chocolate-covered pretzels, or hot coffee. Those small luxuries were appreciated, even when my stomach recoiled, because what they said without words was: “You’re more than a diagnosis, you’re human, and you will get through this.”
Humor as Medicine
One afternoon, shortly before my next infusion, a nurse slipped into my cubicle and announced, “Welcome to Chemo Karaoke: today’s song is ‘Surviving on Ice Chips.’ Feel free to belt it out.” I cracked a grin so wide I could feel it in my ears, because that absurd quip reminded me that even when my body felt like a battlefield, I could still laugh at the absurdity of it all.
The Day I Didn’t Recognize My Husband
After my first surgery, I was living with a colostomy bag for several months while I healed. One afternoon at home, I locked myself in the bathroom, unable to change the bag, my skin weeping in pain. In my brain-fog, I didn’t recognize my husband when he knocked on the door. I yelled at him, demanding to know who he was and why he was in our house. Screaming for him to get Pete.
In desperation, he called a friend, a nurse that I worked with in my day job. That angel drove more than an hour to help. According to Pete, she arrived calmly, took charge of the situation, and changed my bag as if she did it every day. Afterwards, I retained no memory of the ordeal until he told me the story years later, when I mentioned I wanted to have my friend to the house because she had never been there. He hadn’t realized I didn’t remember… and to this day I feel guilt for how terrified and confused I was, and forever grateful that she knew exactly what to do.
A Heartfelt Thank You
To the nurses who searched for fragile veins, administered endless rounds of treatment, and treated me like an old friend instead of a frail patient, thank you. You held my shaking hand, tracked every symptom, and reminded me that life, however difficult, was still worth living. Your compassion carried me through illness, your expertise guided me toward recovery, and your humor reminded me that hope can thrive even in the darkest hours. This National Nurses Week, I celebrate you!
