Chemo Days

I walk into the room, which smells of alcohol age and despair. I step on a scale, no significant change. I chose a chair and open up my shirt unzipping it to expose the familiar lump in my chest, the port that was implanted for this one reason.

"Take a deep breath and exhale", the familiar phrase is heard. And as I do I feel the familiar sting and pressure of the needle, followed by the metallic sweet flavor of sailing pouring into my veins.  I see the bright red. Blood fill the small endless tubes that. Hold the secrets of me. I pull out my IPod and set it to Make it Rain by Ed Sheeran -  my latest favorite from Sons of Anarchy.

Once my temperature is taken, and my blood pressure, pulse and oxygenation are recorder (all relatively normal) I watch the cold seemingly innocuous fluid drip into the connected to my chest filling me full with literal poison. It will kill cells both good and bad, in hopes eradicating my tired, worn out body of the disease that the s slowly killing me. Isn't it strange to try to cure someone with the very thing that can kill them?

I listen to the words of the song, my eyes closed, trying to be somewhere else...anywhere else but here. As I wait, I wonder...

When this is done, will I be filled with unrecognizable energy from the massive dose of steroids given to me to accelerate the effects s of the medicine? Or will I be blinded, struck down with inconsolable nausea and headache?  Will I be able to do anything with the rest of the day, the week? Will this be the medicine to help? Or will this be yet another exercise in futility?