"I still have mine from last summer," Linda said. "Is it okay if I use that?"
"Of course. Now, let me tell you a little about the opening." She took in a deep breath and her demeanor changed radically. Suddenly her eyebrows lowered and the corners of her mouth flattened out. "It's in the new outpatient center."
Linda nodded. "They can treat cancer outpatient? Like a regular clinic or doctor's office visit?"
Beth nodded, solemnly. "In the early stages, yes. We administer chemotherapy in the outpatient center. Each session typically lasts about three hours, and if the patient's well enough, they're free to return home."
"If they're well enough?"
Beth inhaled. "The chemotherapy can make folks pretty ill. They get nauseous, vomit. The usual."
Vomiting in the hospital was pretty common. The previous year in the med surg unit, Linda liked to brag about how quick she was with an emesis pan. "Sounds pretty routine."
"It can be. But I have to warn you that there will be much more than what you were used to in med surg. And it could be emotionally draining. Many times people who come to their first chemotherapy session are upset, in disbelief."
Linda thought about what she'd once learned in a psychology class, that a patient with a terminal disease goes through certain stages: denial, bargaining, anger, and acceptance. "That's fine," she said. "I think I'd be upset too, if I just found out I had cancer."
Beth nodded. "Are you sure you're ready for this? It's going to be way different from med surg, you know."
"Yes, I'm ready." She would start the next night.
She remembered all of the cinema portrayals she'd seen, of people with cancer or other terminal diseases. In Love Story, Ali MacGraw just got pale and perpetually tired-looking, her eyelids fluttering around at half-mast. General Hospital also showed cancer patients as slightly washed out, with dark circles applied under their eyes to portray hollowness. Many times, they still put full makeup on the actresses, who would lie there with eyeliner and mascara while they were supposedly undergoing torturous medical treatments.
When she arrived at the Outpatient Oncology Center, her first thought was that it appeared to be the most bizarre blood bank she ever saw. The patients all wore street clothes: mostly comfortable sweaters and slacks or blue jeans. The three nurses at the center all dashed around from patient to patient. They quickly introduced themselves to Linda and started her off by putting her in charge of the Cart, which contained all the IV bags and medications along with the other supplies, including stacks of gleaming emesis pans.