Warmth

Let's play a little game and try to imagine what crazy odd-servation or association I am going to make this time between real-life circumstances and cancer. Judging by the headline and sub-head, one could surmise that I’m going to share my perspective on how a simple smile, the gentle touch on my shoulder, or a casual aside about the weather are innocuous yet helpful ways that the infusion clinic staff make a time-consuming and weekend-disrupting (though necessary) process a tiny bit more bearable. But alas, I’m not nearly that insightful nor introspective.

Popular media represents that chemo clinics are cold places - both temperament and temperature. Benevolent support groups often crochet caps and afghans which they lovingly donate to help insulate against the chill in the chair (a combination of purposefully lowered temps to discourage germ proliferation and a side effect of intravenous doses of less-than-98.6-degree saline and “cocktails”).

During each visit, the intake nurse dutifully collects my vitals and then escorts me to my duly-assigned chair: telling me the name of my nurse for this day's session, and asking if I would like a blanket. At my clinic, they have a magic cabinet that houses blankets which are heated to a safe and cozy temperature; providing a welcomed wrapping of warmth that helps defeat the aforementioned global cooling. The blankets themselves could not be more bland, institutional or utilitarian. But they do the trick and must have some secret somnambulant power that invariably induces a much-appreciated nap - - - like right nowzzzzzzz.