What’s an Infusion Center?

By Coping Magazine 07 Aug, 2024 CANCER, SURVIVOR BLOOD AND BONE MARROW CANCER, MULTIPLE MYELOMA

Lory Macrate

by Lory Macrate

When I was diagnosed with cancer in 2011, not only had I never heard of multiple myeloma, I also had no idea what an infusion center was. Little did I know how many ways both would impact my life over the next 13 years.

I knew that people with cancer received chemo through IV, but I had never envisioned where or how. I didn’t need to. It wasn’t part of my world. I never considered there was a special place with a distinctive name exclusively dedicated to administering chemo drugs.

When I first saw the sign, “INFUSION CENTER”, I thought it sounded like the department in a Twinkie factory where they inject the creamy filling into the center of the little cake. But what else would you call the place where they mix a magic potion that’s injected into your veins and courses through your body to gobble up cancer gremlins?

I was entering an alternate universe; one I had barely known existed. On my way to the reception desk, I stopped in a quiet corner and cried. My supportive husband was with me, but somehow, I felt alone. I don’t belong here. It felt like a dark place.

“Do you have a port?” the receptionist asked. What’s a port? I was clueless …feeling more and more like I was in the wrong place. This can’t be happening to me. I was so scared. Would chemo hurt my body? Would it work on my cancer?

My fears dissolved as soon as I entered the actual infusion room. Light streamed in from big windows. Cheerful blue and green striped curtains separated big comfy chairs with fancy controls. Some survivors were sleeping, others were reading or chatting with visitors. It felt oddly peaceful.

My nurse that day was Liz Gouge (really!). She joked about the irony of her name; we laughed and the ice was broken. She was kind and sympathetic. She was perfect.

I soon discovered the true bright light came from the compassionate nurses, phlebotomists and receptionists. Even though they stick needles in my arms, send toxic chemicals through my veins and tether me to a pole for hours, I’m incredibly thankful for the infusion of friendship, support and thoughtful concern I always receive from them.

Since that first day, I’ve spent countless hours in the infusion center receiving assorted treatments that have each worked to control myeloma for long periods at a time. Happy to say, my body has survived intact.

When covid hit, my every-other-week infusion visits became my primary social outing. By then, everyone there knew me well. I was always trying to convince each nurse and staff member to call me by my first name. After all they’re responsible for keeping me alive, shouldn’t we be on a first name basis?! They had become like family to me.

LIKE THIS ARTICLE? CHECK OUT: Am I Lucky?

It’s an exceptionally good feeling to be greeted by my name as soon as I walk in the door.

We chat about normal stuff, like kids and grandkids, the weather and food, hobbies and current events – rarely do we talk about cancer. We share personal stories and photos. We hug.

If I’m having an occasional tough day – worried about relapse or side effects of a new treatment – we talk about that. They understand and listen thoughtfully.

The extraordinary group of people at my infusion center have converted one of the scarier elements of my cancer experience into a comforting one. They’ve become a significant part of my life. Literally, helping to save my life!