It's a sunny day in the cancer center. Light streams in through large windows, colorful glass orbs hang from the ceiling peacefully.
And here I am, back in this chair. Sitting next to this noisy contraption, this IV pole on steroids. Bags of chemo chemicals, steroids, anti-emetics, saline dangling from metal hooks again. Needle in my chest again. Weight, temperature, blood pressure have been recorded. "Last name and date of birth?" I don't even pause anymore. "Sign here. And here. And here..." I sign and sign and sign and initial.
God, I'm back in this chair. I'm staying positive, I promise. It's just that this is such a strange place. The cancer center. Hope and loss coexist equally here. Sadness and sickness, faith and love. Fear of death and fighting for life, all of these things hang in the air. Some of us are dying here, some of us are living. All in one room.
I breath deeply. I smile. If I'm lucky, a bald headed warrior will walk by, and she'll smile back.
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