Free lunch

There is no place on earth that I enjoy less than a chemotherapy treatment room.

And yet I willingly entered one on Monday, and spent about a half hour with an IV in my hand, receiving an infusion of an osteoporosis drug that may prevent cancer recurrence.

Oncology nurses are amazing when it comes to inserting IVs, and even though my left arm veins are all very tired and worn, she found one in between my ring finger and pinky, and deftly inserted the skinniest little needle with barely a pinch. The infusion was a breeze, nothing like the first time. It didn't make me puke and it didn't make my hair fall out, and I didn't have to chase it with massive doses of steroids. Chemo ultra-light. Piece of cake.

The whole thing took no time at all, and I spent most of it noticing the differences between the chemo room at Beth Israel, where I sat now, and the chemo room at Bethesda Naval Medical Center, where I was systematically poisoned 3 years ago. BI wins hands-down. Newer, brighter. Actual windows. Curtains in between chairs for privacy (at Bethesda you could practically hold hands with the half-dead patient next to you). BI even has individual TVs you can watch. And just when you're thinking - wow, this place is AWESOME - the aide comes around with a cart full of complimentary sandwiches, chips, juice, and fruit. All it cost me was my breasts.