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Frank had already been through the first stages in his treatment for cancer which included surgery and radiation therapy. The last treatment was chemo therapy and Frank was not too keen on this treatment. His oncologist brought up the seven lymph nodes which had tested positive and this was just a precaution to make sure all the cancer was eliminated. The doctor went over the side effects and the new medication which was used to combat the side effects. Frank thought it over for a few minutes and finally agreed. That was two weeks ago and he was sitting in the waiting room at the Cancer Treatment Center filled with anxiety of the unknown when the nurse called his name. She led him down a corridor; they turned left and entered the treatment room.

The room was forty by forty; lounge chairs lined the wall and were in front of the windows which occupied the other main wall. The supporting wall had a few more chairs and he guessed there were about twenty five total. A tray with IV equipment and poles to hold the bags of chemo drugs were stationed next to each chair.  Sixties music was playing overhead but the patients didn’t seem to hear it. The only empty chair was next to a young man receiving blood. He sat down and gazed at the two people across from him. The older gentleman was asleep, and the younger lady next to him was reading wrapped in a blanket. A nurse walked up to him, checked his name tag, took his vital signs, explained to him he was going to receive this particular chemo drug, handed him literature on it, and told him it would take four hours to be administered. He was shocked it would take so long and immediately knew his day was gone. The nurse started his IV, ran the tubing through the machine, hung the IV bag with his chemo treatment, and walked away.

Looking around he noticed the majority of people were either sleeping or reading and those who interacted only spoke with their spouse or friend.  Sadness and lack of hope hung in the air like a dark cloud even though the sunlight streamed through the windows and kissed the floor with its brilliance. He hadn’t brought anything to read, was not sleepy and had no idea what he would do for the next four hours. The pamphlet the nurse gave him on his chemo drug was on his lap; he opened it, and began to read. When he got to the side effects he was appalled. The oncologist had not lied to him but didn’t tell him the whole truth either. The effects he failed to mention were chronic fatigue, weight loss, low white and red blood count, and loss of hair. He didn’t mind the loss of hair but the chronic fatigue worried him. Over the past six weeks, he had endured a multitude of embarrassing moment learning how to care for his colostomy and now this.

The young man sitting next to him leaned over and said;

“You’re new here? My name is Don Dripple, but my friends call me Drip. How long is your treatment?”

“Six weeks.”

“That’s too bad. This is my fourth week and I have four more to go.”

“That’s a hell of a long time. What type of cancer do you have?”

“Rectal. The doc says this will take care of what he couldn’t see and I’ll be back on my feet in no time. But, you know what? I don’t believe him. He lied to me about the treatment and the side effects. The effects are a bitch! They gave me the new drug to take away the nausea, but it doesn’t work, and the fatigue is a killer. All I do all week is come to treatment, rest, sleep, and try to eat. It’s the drip drip that is causing it.”

“The drip drip?”

“Yeah. Take a look around. We sit here five times a week and slowly watch the drip drip hoping when the treatment is finished the cancer will finally be destroyed. You realize the chemo kills our healthy cells as well as the cancer cells. The drugs in all the bags you see are really filled with poison. Chemo therapy is just a fancy way of saying poison therapy. Cancer is very difficult to kill and poison is the only drug which will do it. Why do you think I am receiving blood? It is to build me back up so I can get the rest of my chemo. In a couple of weeks you will be getting blood. Think about it for a moment. Would you drink poison? It would be quicker than the drip drip. So, I call this place the drip drip lounge.”

Frank didn’t know what to say. Possibly Don was trying to scare him, but he doubted it. Looking around he could not see one happy face among the patients. Sitting in the drip drip lounge he stared down at the sun’s reflection on the floor, and hoped he never would become as cynical as Don.

With kindest regards, Judowolf