A Creature of Habit

Today, I am receiving my IVIG treatment that I receive every 28 days to support my immune system. It is an emotional day for me. I spent a decade at the previous cancer center - same chemo chair, same nurses, same routine. Then a couple of years ago, a new cancer center was constructed, affiliated with one of the two local hospitals. So, I made that move to the new center. I was traumatized. My parking spot and chemo chair location of ten years were gone. I had to adjust and adapt to a new cancer environment.

If you know me well, you know that I thrive on an organized, stable, unchanging schedule and routine. This move was upsetting to me, however, I gradually settled in. After experimenting with several different chemo chairs, my compromised immune system decided for me that I would receive the chair in the private room, apart from other patients and germs. Over the past two years, this cubicle has become my home away from home. I have celebrated good reports and victories here and I have wept tears over concerning reports. My same five chemo nurses who have administered almost every drip of chemotherapy and other treatments into my veins remained with me and I readjusted.

Today, another transition looms. I am sad today. This is my last day in this facility. The other local hospital is building a new cancer infusion center and my local oncologist has opted to be affiliated with it. So, once again, I have lived long enough as a cancer patient to be facing yet another move by this practice. The search for another chemo chair will begin. Since I spend so much time here, this becomes a sort of "home away from home" for me. Gone will be my fine window view. And I have learned that two of the five nurses will no longer be performing the infusions for me. That rips and tears at my heart. These women have done so much to help me over the many years - they have sacrificed Christmas, Easter, July 4th and many weekends with their families to come to administer treatments for me. Those type of sacrifices are never forgotten. Also, this cancer facility houses several different oncology-related practices and with it came a chaplain. Sister Betty and I are similar creatures and have shared many prayers and rich conversations over a drip of IV or antibiotics. This morning, we shared our last time of prayer and reflection.

Some believe that change is positive. This morning it doesn't feel very positive to me. My routine will once again be rattled and my second decade of battling leukemia will be rearranged once again. Please pray for my relocation after the first of the year to be replete with peace and without sorrow.