Clean mammogram and IV poison

Today I got to have a mammogram and IV infusion drugs.  Yippee.  For those who need background, last year I had a regularly scheduled mammogram come up with a lesion in my right breast.  A needle biopsy was performed, and the results came back with atypical ductal hyperplasia, which basically means cancer cells that haven't yet formed a lump.  So then I went in for a lumpectomy to make sure all the toxic cells were taken out.  Today was my follow up mammogram, and I'm clean!  I don't have to go back for a year.  Thank God, because I didn't think I would have been able to hold up for that kind of news right now.  

So, anyway, after the m-gram, I had a few hours to kill before the infusion, went shopping to ease the anxiety, and went back to the clinic.  They took me to a big room where all the cancer patients were getting their chemo treatments.  I went and sat in a recliner, and I felt like an intruder.  There were mostly women hooked up to IVs who had "ports" in their chests so they could get their chemo treatments for hours at a time every week.  Some had hair, most did not.  All had at least one person with them to keep them company.  One woman walked around with her 4 year old daughter as she (the mom) received her treatment.  I didn't like being there, because I didn't think I belonged.  The nurses were all super nice, high energy, wanna-be comedian types.  One says, "let me have your arm" and the other says "don't worry, she won't keep it."  I wanted to run as fast as I could.  As Mark the nurse was putting in my IV, he told where all the bathrooms were, there is a kitchen with a fridge and microwave if I wanted to bring food, wireless internet, all the comforts of home as the poison gets pumped into our bodies.  He tries to joke with me, and I stare at him like Bambi.  I feel bad that I don't laugh at his bad jokes.  No one else is acting like they are getting poisoned.  I close my eyes and pray for a better attitude.  I still have all my hair (even though it's turning white), I don't have to sit in this huge fake living room for 6 hours every week, I don't have a catheter sticking permanently out of my chest that will freak out my kids. Why am I freaking out?  When Mark comes back to check on me and my IV, I try to make a joke so he'll forgive me for impersonating some stuck-up witch, and he reciprocates with a line that makes me cringe.  Wow.  Better stick to nursing, Mark.  

Now, I'm sitting at home with my boys, chatting on aol with my girl, and trying not to throw up from the smell of the pizza Ken brought home.  On that note, thanks for reading.

God is love.