Two Lucky

Bureaucracy, by baboon

The third infusion

It is almost 2pm. I flinch involuntarily when the research nurse pushes a needle into Rusty’s arm.

We are at Memorial Sloan Kettering on 53rd and Lexington Ave, and in a few minutes Rusty will receive another dose of the new drug, Medarex. This is the first time I am sitting with him through the treatment, even though it will already be his third infusion. There is one more infusion after this, and then we will take scans. Looking at the modest, palm-sized plastic bag of clear liquid, I wonder if this clinical trial is what will save our future. Instinctively, out of habit, I pray under my breath.

When Dr Ejadi walks into the examination room, we describe to him the drug’s side effects since Rusty’s first infusion last month. “It’s nothing,” Rusty says, “Mostly fevers, night sweats, itching, no big deal.”

“Every night, though,” I add grimly. Dr Ejadi is attentive. When he speaks, words like “positive” and “activity” are thrown about. Our spirits are somewhat lifted. At the same time, we guard ourselves against reckless hope.

I feel an odd sense of comfort surrounded by the familiarity of white coats and whirring medical equipment. Behind a curtained cubicle, Rusty’s blood is drawn into eight skinny, glass vials. “To check for any kind of immunological response,” the nurse explains. Rusty is tired. He takes a nap on the stretcher while hooked to a weary-looking infusion pump. It beeps - as if to affirm its presence - like a heart beat.

This entry was posted on Thursday, December 28th, 2006 at 2:07 pm and is filed under New York, Melanoma. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.