The Oncology Wing

Tucked away on the sixth floor, in an older part of the building, is a suite of a dozen rooms circling a care station. The rooms have an understated 80's look of warm beiges, soft turquoise and comforting cranberry. The chips in the paint, the worn linoleum, holes in the curtains and ceiling stains may show the space's age, but a better, more caring place would be hard to find.

The staff are all very sensitive to my needs without hovering or being disruptive. The techs move about their business of taking stats and seeing to the fresh water and linens gently, disturbing as little as possible if I am sleeping.

I have an assigned RN who not only comes the minute I press the call button, but encourages me to call no matter how small my question or request. There is never any irritation or sense that I have inconvenienced them when they respond, and they end every response with "Is there anything else I can do for you? Don't hesitate to ring if you need help." When they go off duty, they come in the room to let me know they are leaving and to make sure I connect with the next person who will be my RN, who also come to my room with them.

My RN's have mostly been male, a new experience for me. I find them delightful, professional and caring and not once did I feel embarrassed . We had good conversations ranging from jazz and music performance to end of life issues.

Every day I am expected to don a mask and walk the loop around the nurses' station, no small challenge. The tech walks with me, making sure my derriere is covered and keeping me steady. The loop is a beehive of interest and activity filled with doctors, residents, fellows, students, physicians assistants, nurses, techs and a multitude of support personnel all tapping away on computers or carrying on conversations or filling out charts.

My window offers a fabulous view of the brick wing next to ours, but there is plenty of blue sky and clouds. If I look between the little brick HVAC house on the roof of the parallel wing and the tan metal parapet, I can glimpse the trees and mountains that lie beyond.

Beneath my window is no grassy lawn, but a pebbled roof complete with street lights and a children's playground of pretty pink plastic which I can only see as a reflection in the opposite windows. I sit in a chair by the window, grateful for the warm sun that heats the window ledge and my naked head.

It is a slow road to recovery filled with minor bumps and setbacks. I can't imagine trying to get through this at home. Here a whole army of marvelous people are working hard to get me back on my feet. It is, indeed, an incredible journey.