Lucrezia Magazine

The needle was the tiniest the nurse could find. Three bags of chemo coursed through my arms. A new nurse came on. She hooked a saline bag into the system and turned the flow up. I looked at the purple decorations. I noted toxic waste signs, a cupboard marked, ‘In Case Of Spillage”.and how the nurses built a wall of protection with masks, gloves and smocks.

My arm pulsed red. “Is it on fast,” I cried - heard hurried acknowledgement as she whisked away.

Three weeks later - my right arm still ached – was angry with red grooves up it, the veins ropey. I kept ice water on them all day.

“It has to go in slow,” I ordered the nurse the next time I went for chemo – she pricked a spider mite needle in my left arm, taping my forefinger to the chair. “It will and this is a sign for the next nurse so she won’t turn the flow up.”

The next day I went to the x-ray department. I was given a local anaesthetic and a big hole was punched in my arm. A long plastic vein was threaded close to my heart, delivering the drug. That was two years ago and I had the most amazing response ever seen to chemo. I take a lot of suplements and only eat almost raw and unprocessed food. I have no breasts. My hair grew back thick and curly. I still look like myself. I am still myself.

© 2008 Diane Andrews

Image © 2008 Diane Andrews