You know the drill. You’re flying NY to Los Angeles. It’s a whole day. You prepare as though you’re going to be on the plane for a week. Lots of snacks. The world’s largest bottle of Aquafina. A full season of WEEDS downloaded onto your I-tunes on your laptop. Enough reading material for a 2-week vacation (is there a name for the disease that I have: “FEAR OF RUNNING OUT OF READING MATERIALS BEFORE WE LAND IN LA”?)
I recently discovered that having chemo isn’t that much different. The food, drink, & reading/viewing materials are pretty much the same. In chemo-land, the gum is there to kill the metal taste in your mouth, not to make your ears pop due to air pressure, but the net effect is the same: tote bag full of gum.
Your personality comes through the same. On the flight, I sit on the aisle near the front because I am claustrophobic and I pee a lot (so I need easy access to the ladies room). In chemo land, I choose my seat carefully, making sure I have full view of the door so I can see who is coming and going (I am a tireless people watcher, even with cancer!). I also make sure I have a seat with enough leg room and personal space to pacify my little claustrophobic thing.
On the plane, you tread lightly before engaging the person in the chair next to you in conversation. After all, you’re going to be there for many hours and maybe that person wants some alone time, and you have all those back issues of “In Style” magazine that you NEED to read. It’s the same in chemo land; you stare straight ahead at first, trying to tell everyone you’re in a ZEN place where you don’t want to make friends or talk about the weather, but after 2+ hours of sitting right next to someone, you realize it’s a little odd not to at least make a little small talk.
On a plane, you see the readers, the sleepers, the talkers, the lap-top-ers, the gamers, the knitters, the workers and the pacers. Same for chemo, except that it’s hard to pace with an IV, so the pacers have been replaced with the multi taskers who write Christmas cards and clean out their purses while the harsh chemicals drip slowly into their bodies.
I’ve yet to see anyone bring Annie’s pretzels, a COSI salad or a Pizza Hut personal pan pizza into chemo, but when I do, I’ll know that chemo land and American Airlines have officially merged!
Leave a Comment