Chemo Chronicles V3 Pattie Presswoman Report

Dateline: Infusion Center, Day Two of Chemo

Remember how I once reported that some folks draw the lucky short straw for chemo—zip in, zip out—and others get the long version? Well, folks, yours truly drew the very, very, very long straw. I arrived bright-eyed (okay, half-eyed) at 9 a.m. and was still there when the lights dimmed at 5 p.m.. Yes, I closed the joint down. (Closing the joint down sure brings different memories!)

But here’s the breaking news: it all went smoothly. No adverse reactions. Just hours and hours of people-watching, chair-swapping, and enough drowsy naps to qualify as a full-blown slumber party.

Morning Beat

When I arrived, chairs were 80% full (give or take, I don’t actually count). I parked myself on the TV-off side. Snoozing in front of me was a woman clearly shorter than me—a clear sign the universe was sending things in the right direction.

Within minutes, the room was its usual scene: patients knocked out cold from the pre-drugs, myself included. I lost the first two hours without even trying.

Midday Shuffle

By the time I woke, the cast had rotated. The self-appointed Chair 11 Lady was back in position, keeping silent watch over the room and the halllway. A few men had joined the section—both out like lights.

And then—finally—real entertainment. One nurse strutted in wearing head-to-toe yellow scrubs with matching socks, topped off with a black jacket and black shoes. She proudly declared herself a “bumble bee.” Who was I to argue? For all I know, that’s the official undercover bee uniform. 🐝 She buzzed around until—wait for it—her twin-in-disguise arrived: a regal patient escorted by her husband/guardian/possibly fellow bee agent. I dubbed her the Queen Bee—weary but still dignified. The nurse buzzed, the husband checked charts, the transfusion wrapped, and the hive emptied out.

For a moment I wasn’t sure if I was in a chemo chair, a bee convention, or halfway down the Yellow Brick Road with Dorothy. Either way, I was definitely not in Kansas anymore.

Evening Edition

As the afternoon crawled on, the chairs emptied. Patients left. Nurses clocked out. Until—just me. And three nurses. They never abandon ship, even when they’re itching to go home. By then, I was cranky and this close to bawling like a toddler denied her juice box.

Finally, my husband was called back, the finish line in sight. I jumped out of that chair faster than a short woman whose feet don’t reach the floor should be able to.

Tears waited until I got home. Then they came fast, like Biff the Cancer Boy himself screaming “I’m dying!”—melting like the Wicked Witch of the West.

Closing Statement

This is Pattie Presswoman, reporting live from the frontlines of chemo. The day was long, the straw longer, but the news? Still good.

“Good day, and may the good news be yours.”

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