Chemotherapy is not fun, and the chemo room is not a place most folks want to be because there's nothing like having toxic chemicals pumped into your body to give you a bad attitude. So it takes a special person to be an oncology nurse.
My chemo treatments tend to take all day, so I have had the opportunity to observe the oncology nurses at Columbia Basin Hematology & Oncology at the Tri-Cities Cancer Center.
What I see helps me to realize they are truly angels.
In the chemo room, there are about a dozen chairs. At any given time, every one of them might be occupied by a cancer patient. We're all hooked up to an IV, which is pushing the drugs into our bodies. Every few minutes, an alarm will sound, usually to let one of the nurses know that it's time to hook up another drug, though it also could be a sign of a problem, such as an air bubble. The moment an alarm sounds, one or more nurses will show up to figure out what the issue is and handle it immediately.
I think it takes a special level of patience, kindness and insight to be an oncology nurse. Several times per day, cancer patients are greeted with hugs and warm wishes by the nurses. These angels listen to our stories, look at photos of children and grandchildren and work to solve issues related to the side effects of having cancer and receiving chemotherapy.
We cancer patients also get to know a little about them. During my second treatment, one nurse came to me because she heard I worked at the newspaper. She told me that she is on a roller derby team here in town and thought that might make a good story. She didn't look like the prototypical roller derby type I recall watching on TV when I was a kid. In fact, she looked like she wouldn't hurt a fly, so I've nicknamed her "Elbows" (using your elbows in this sport is against the rules).
I never hear complaints from these angels. In fact, I've watched one literally skip from patient to patient around the room in apparent happiness to be able to help. They are saving our lives - and they're happy and proud to do it.
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Faces of Cancer: Tri-City nurse a warrior in chemo ward, on wheels
Faces of Cancer: Tri-City nurse a warrior in chemo ward, on wheels
It takes a special kind of person to be an oncology nurse, someone who can reassure and comfort those who are facing an immense and frightening challenge.
Laila Ghan is on the front line of the war on cancer during the day -- and she laces up her skates to take on a more enjoyable battle in her spare time.
Ghan, 32, studied nursing at Columbia Basin College. She decided to go into oncology while working at Kadlec and now is the primary oncology nurse for Dr. Basir Haque at Columbia Basin Hematology & Oncology in Kennewick.
Mother of 5 trying to end a stigma
Mother of 5 trying to end a stigma
Holly Roettger-Duncan proudly displays her tattoos, but she says not everyone appreciates them and too often people make assumptions about her because of them.
In an effort to change the general public's perception of tattooed women, the Kennewick woman organized the group Modified Dolls, whose motto is, "The Different Making a Difference."
Roettger-Duncan, 28, takes the motto seriously -- in her job as a nurse, her role as a mother of five and also as part of the Dolls.
Faces of Cancer: Support system key in battle
Faces of Cancer: Support system key in battle
KENNEWICK — Cancer is a battle with many fronts -- and treatment is just one of them.
People living with cancer, whether it's their own diagnosis or the diagnosis of a loved one, undergo a significant life change, and they also must battle the stress, the emotions, the side effects of treatment, the financial strains, the changes in relationships and the adjustments to their lifestyles.
All of that takes a toll, which is why health care professionals and advocates have created a network of support systems to help those experiencing cancer with all facets of the battle -- including what comes after the fight is over.
Oncologists choose emotional career
Oncologists choose emotional career
By Kay Kerbyson, Special to the Tri-City Herald
Five years after originally being diagnosed with cancer, I have a lot to be thankful for this holiday season.
Not least of which, my care team in Seattle, for getting me through my current chemotherapy, and the doctors who went before in New Mexico who allow me to say, "I'm a five-year survivor."
Oncologists choose emotional career
Oncologists choose emotional career
Five years after originally being diagnosed with cancer, I have a lot to be thankful for this holiday season. Not least of which, my care team in Seattle, for getting me through my current chemotherapy, and the doctors who went before in New Mexico who allow me to say, "I'm a five-year survivor."
Oncologists are a very special breed of person. Five years ago, a thoracic surgeon, brought in to take out a large unexpected tumor during my surgery, wanted to close me up and let me go home to die. My oncologic surgeon made damn sure that didn't happen. After that, she was my hero, my confidant, my friend.
The survivor-oncologist relationship is a special one. Most see ours as having God-like powers, not even to be questioned or judged. After all, they do have our lives in their hands. Some of us are even privileged enough to be able to call our oncologist a friend.
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