The Chemo Bag

On the average, three times a week, we used to fill our unpretentious black Jansport backpack with crossword puzzles, sudoku books, novels, games, sweaters, snacks, bottles of water, magazines and music.  These were often very long days, my daughter tethered to an infusion pump, sometimes for a five hour dose of chemo, two or three units of packed red cells or platelets, a full morning’s photopharesis treatment or some type of necessary life-saving therapy.  But that was way, way in the past, thank God.  Last week we were at the oncologist office for a routine (ha!) follow-up bone marrow biopsy.  All went well; we are used to these barbaric procedures and L handles them like the fighter that she truly is.  She’s endured so many of these that I lost count.  She used to require a day to limp around the house in necessary recuperation, but she went out that same night last week.  No big deal… not anymore.

But, sitting in that all-too-familiar bustling check-in area, watching the scores of people milling through the oncology main offices, waiting to be summoned to the infusion rooms, to their private little curtained, partitioned region of the cancer world, I noticed all the bags that people carried.  Some were brand new, some were threadbare, just like the bald heads of these brave cancer warriors, overflowing with the personalities of those who proudly toted them into their missions of battle.  There have been hundreds, maybe thousands who have passed this way, and thousands more to come, no doubt.  How many will be lucky? How many will overcome the ruthless disease and the brutal treatments? How many will die?  The middle-aged, well-dressed woman with the knitting needles and colorful yarn poking from of the top of her Dooney & Bourke tote bag?  The kindly grandmother, flanked by her two very worried-looking and loving daughters who carried the woman’s worn and bulging tapestry bag? The older gentleman with the peeked cap, hauling a stack of classic novels in a wrinkled brown bag from Whole Foods?  Perhaps these treasures were on his “books to read before he dies” list. How about the young boy in his twenties, in the red baseball cap, his gym bag containing a laptop, an iphone and maybe the current Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition?  Some brought projects in progress, some journals, newspapers, sketchbooks, a favorite blanket or pillow…anything to soften the harsh reality of what has become life.

The tide of people who pass this way, who trudge this difficult path shows no sign of stopping.  It makes me sad to know the truth.  Some will die no matter how hard they fight.  But watching them fills me with hope, too, because so many will live.