Finding Grace in the Nurses Who Helped My Daughter Through Treatment

The day I walked into the oncology ward for my daughter’s first chemotherapy appointment the voices inside my head were screaming that it couldn’t be happening, that my 27-year-old child could not have breast cancer. I had been there for all the pretreatment appointments and chemo teaching and knew I would be there for all that came after, but this was the moment it became real and I felt the world closing in as I tried to keep it together for her sake.

My girl and I sat in the waiting room and held hands and then her name was called and a nurse led us into the treatment area. I looked around at all the occupied chairs with IVs dripping into arms and heard the beep-beep-beep of machines needing attention. I saw all the bustling around as staff tried to make sure everyone had what they needed, saw them check a tube here and touch an arm there. Then I watched one of them, about my daughter’s age, walk toward my child, bags of chemo in hand, and the screams got so loud that I was amazed that no one else could hear them.

The young nurse introduced herself and explained what she was going to do as matter-of-factly as if she were putting a bandage on a cut. I watched her gown up because, as she explained, she needed to protect herself from the medication she was pushing into my girl’s port because it is toxic enough to burn the skin if it leaks. My vision narrowed to a small window as I saw the Red Devil being injected into my child’s veins and for a minute I didn’t know if I could do it and then…

I heard my daughter laugh.

As my world was closing in and my vision was narrowing I hadn’t noticed the nurse engaging her in conversation… normal conversation about some normal thing that had happened over the weekend. I looked up and the two of them were sharing parts of their lives that had absolutely nothing to do with my girl having cancer. It’s not that any of us had forgotten why we were there, but the choice to bring another part of life into the room was a greater gift than I could have imagined.

As each week passed, as the side effects of treatment got worse, our experience in the chemo treatment room got… better. More conversations with my girl about boy problems (theirs, not mine!), asking if it was okay to call me “Mom.” Encouraging me to grab the pillow or extra warm blanket if my girl needed them. Joking about asking her for her last name and birthdate a million times each visit. Sharing the crazy fishing stories and checking out our lunches and telling us there would be no objection if some of those home-baked goods got shared the next time we were there… which they did because my girl loves to bake and she wanted to give back a little.

On the last day we ended up in one of the two private treatment rooms adjacent to the main area and everyone on shift came in to see us. As the final bag finished dripping one of the nurses took me into her arms and cried a little with me that my daughter had made it all the way through, which we didn’t know at the time doesn’t always happen because the side effects are too intense. They said they would miss our smiles and the occasional cookie but hoped never to see us again. Then they said goodbye and went to figure out why another machine was beeping.

I don’t know what I expected when I chose to accompany my daughter to every appointment, but I know it wasn’t that I would develop a relationship with the nurses caring for her that would fill my spirit when I was at my lowest. When I think of the despair they must witness every day, the knowledge that some of the people they offer a reassuring touch to will not last to the end of the year, the degree of grace they bring to their work is one of the most remarkable expressions of the best of humanity I have ever seen. The difference they made for me is immeasurable and I wish for every mother of an adult child with cancer who can be there that they find the same.

This piece reflects the author’s personal experience and perspective. For medical advice, please consult your health care provider.

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