“My husband is so sad he doesn’t come here anymore, but he’ll be here Friday and is so happy.”
You might think this was overheard at a beach, theme park or some other place where people go to spend a wonderful day. So, you will probably be surprised it was at the Sophia Gordon Cancer Center at Lahey Medical Center, Peabody. But, if you’ve ever had to go there for cancer treatments or other infusions, you would understand the statement completely. The Center is a place of joy thanks to the doctors, nurses and medical technicians who work there.
It’s a place I’ve gotten to know well since September 2022 when I was diagnosed with three cancers. Surgery took care of two, but the ovarian cancer fought harder to stick around.
As I received treatment recently and overheard the woman’s comment to the nurses, I was struck by how wonderfully true it is and completely surprising at the same time. Why would anyone miss coming to the Department of Oncology and Hematology?
Patients ring the bell when they complete treatments and don’t need to return. It feels like a miracle. Others get the infusions they need and may not need to come back. The point is it means you’re healthier and don’t need this care anymore.
But I got the meaning in her comment because I have never been depressed or sad to go to my appointments there. I got to ring the bell in 2023 after I was considered clear of the disease, but things change, and I am now getting my fourth round of chemotherapy meds. I told you my ovarian cancer is fighting to stick around. But the doctors, nurses and I are fighting back.
I actually look forward to seeing the staff who greet me with a smile, often a hug and remember my name. Last week, I had barely stepped into the long hallway entrance when the nurse who often does my labs bounced out of her doorway and yelled, “Christine, come on down!” She made my day.
But these medical professionals go deeper than a name recall and a smile. They talk to you about you, the you outside of cancer or whatever brings you there. Then at your next appointment, they remember your conversations.
When my daughter was getting engaged, her soon-to-be fiancé told us about his plans and asked us to be there to enjoy the moment afterward. I told a nurse it was happening and, as expected, she was happy for my daughter and family.
I didn’t return to the center for two weeks, but as soon as she saw me (she was not my nurse that day), she asked excitedly about the engagement.
After a recent vacation, a nurse asked how it was… remembering it was with eight women in my family, an 8-year-old and only one man (cousin).
“Only girls and one guy,” she said, smiling.
Yes, my sister’s gift to her girls and her cousin Joe. I wonder how these nurses remember little things about us patients and still do such a remarkable job caring for us medically. They see us. They know us. They care deeply about us. They make the visits more than bearable; they make them joyful. Really. They do. Trust me, I’ve been going for three years.
The patients also make it a happier place than it would seem to be. One regular, a costume designer by trade, comes dressed up for each of his appointments. I saw him as the Scarecrow from “The Wizard of Oz.” I was sad I missed him as Glinda. I heard it was amazing! He takes pictures with his nurses and made them a calendar as a gift.
Recently, three nurses were having babies pretty much at the same time — all boys, too — and some patients gave them gifts. Another patient gave many of the nursing staff the book “The Women” by Kristin Hannah after she read it.
The care at the Sophia Gordon Cancer Center is top notch. They work in pairs to double-check that each patient gets the correct medicine, blood or whatever they need.
They all jump up when a bell rings or a machine buzzer goes off. “Thank you” is a word they say often because they are all helping each other happily.
I remember one time my mom and sister called while I was there. I was alone, and they were worried about that. I told them you’re never alone there. You’re entertained by someone who knows you, talks to you, truly listens to and takes care of you. Always.
“Don’t worry,” I told my mom and sister. “I have lots of friends here.”
The staff and the feeling of independence going alone, which tells me I’m not too sickly and still can take care of myself despite this disease that has a hold on me for a while, makes my labs, doctor and infusion appointments pretty joyful. It’s true.
Just ask that patient who is happy to be coming back soon to see these wonderful people.
Christine McCarriston is a Marblehead resident and contributes regularly to the Current.
