I was diagnosed with cancer in February of this year, and I began chemotherapy in April. I had a short break at the end of the summer, then returned for several more cycles that will end in December. I anticipate having to stay on some sort of chemotherapy for the rest of my life, however long that may be. I often feel that my life is dependent not only on the care I receive from my oncologist but also on the vigilance of the nurses with whom I spend a significant number of my days.

The first time I walked into the Infusion Center, I of course had no idea what I was in for. I had heard the horror stories about chemo and was trying to be prepared for the worst. I had also heard how wonderful the infusion nurses were, but I really didn’t know what “wonderful” meant. Until I experienced their care first-hand. And learned I could put those horror stories into perspective.

Over the months, I came to describe my chemo days as my “spa days.” I will never forget being greeted by Holli on my first day at the Center and asking her where I should sit. While calmly welcoming me into this new world and somehow putting me at ease, she commented that many people like to sit under the skylight. Naturally, I took her idea and I claimed that chair for over four months of treatment. And then, once seated, out came the pillow, the heated blanket, the offer to get me something to drink or eat, the instructions on how to make my chair assume any position that felt good to me, and the explanation of what was coming next. The latter was more important than I can express. And it’s been that same level of personal attention every day since. And it isn’t just one of the nurses who does all those things. I swear each one of them does something to help me feel comfortable, relaxed, secure, and, well, ready, not only for the day, but for whatever may come next.

Debbi was my main nurse on that first day, and I immediately lost that feeling of being viewed only as a terminally ill cancer patient and instead felt seen as a regular person who still existed outside her disease. Again, that was more important than I can say. And Debbi and I have since shared important opinions on my wigs which has made their necessity almost fun. Since that first day, every time I’ve walked to my chair, each of the nurses has said hello and called me by name, as they do with everyone who comes in there. And they’ve smiled and been upbeat. Wow. What a difference that makes. Again, we are more than our illnesses.

One day, Renee noticed one of my lab values was elevated. She alerted the nurse in my oncologist’s office and we’ve been tracking it ever since. She also shared a book with me that changed my thinking about cancer and started me on the journey of trying to holistically understand my illness and make my treatment healing for me, not only physically, but also emotionally, psychologically, and spiritually.

Kathy just always simply makes me feel better and I’m not sure how she does that, but I will say her energy is infectious and her warmth and laughter lighten the load of cancer and of the infusion experience.

Recently, Jenny was the one who noticed another lab value that was elevated, and, as a result of her notifying my oncologist, I’ve discontinued certain supplements. Jenny and I also talk about books that have touched us both and about her insights into cancer. Even as the Ativan is seeping into my bloodstream, it’s nice to think I can still have a fairly intelligent conversation with someone.

Erin is a newcomer to the Center, but she gives the same specialized support and attention to detail as her teammates and I have never doubted her caring or expertise.

The point is, I couldn’t possibly single out any one of these nurses for a DAISY Award. They all work together and have each other’s backs, and they cumulatively provide an environment where I can let down my guard, wear different wigs, snore, let myself be pampered, ask questions and get answers, and, perhaps most importantly, feel safe. I love their sincere compassion, but I love their intense expertise more. They are committed to caring for those of us with cancer, and for others who also need infusion therapies. They all tell me how to take care of myself, based on their experience, and give suggestions I will hopefully consider but am welcome to follow or not. They have all contributed equally, each in her own unique way, to making chemotherapy tolerable and manageable for me. If I have to have cancer, which apparently I do, then I am blessed indeed to feel I have these incredible women looking out for me. In the midst of the terrors of cancer, they together somehow provide a steady, calm, experienced, realistic influence that helps me cope. And Lord knows I need that peace. Each of them is deserving as an individual, but the team they have created truly needs this special recognition.