Corned beef, cabbage and chemo

On most people's calendar, March 17 was marked as St. Patrick's Day, but my calendar had another entry: Final chemo session. It had been delayed from the week before because of the pneumonia complication. While others, whether Irish or far from it, were being served and over-served with green beer and Irish whiskey, I was having a different sort of cocktail, through a tube feeding into a vein in my hand. But I was okay with it. This was the last dose. Even with Irish ancestors by the name of Karnes on my dad's side, I was never a big St. Patty's Day celebrant. Not crazy about beer, nor whiskey. But I did like corned beef and cabbage. This was the first year I didn't prepare it. To be tender and tasty, corned beef needs to quietly simmer for several hours. By the time I got home from the chemo session, it would be too late and I would be too tired to initiate that process.

My last session was quiet and isolated. When I first arrived, the usual room where I received treatment was full. In the back room, where blood is taken for preliminary testing, there was also a recliner and we began treatment there. Even after the other room cleared out, I chose to remain where I was. I had my lunch, read a book and it was peaceful. Two different women came and went for blood work. One was newly diagnosed. The other had been cured for two years and was having routine testing done. There was an easy rapport and conversation among us, as if we were sorority sisters. Know where you've been. Know where you're headed. It tends to be a tie that binds, even if just for an afternoon.

Treatment completed, I thanked the nurses who had taken such good care of me and made my 3-month follow-up appointment. I felt like I imagine a released prisoner feels as I walked to my car. Time served. Released for good behavior. Oh, it felt good. In 22 days, my body could start the rebirth process. Hair could grow again. Heartburn could go wherever heartburn goes. My immune system could start rebuilding. Spring was coming to Chicago and it felt, to me, like my body was about to enter its own spring season.

The next morning I was the first to arrive at work -- about 6 a.m. As I rounded the corner to my office, I could see a pink glow emanating from within. A helium balloon's escape had been stopped by the ceiling above my chair. My lamp, phone, arm rests and monitor were wrapped in pink netting. A light pink frothy ribbon draped my walls. Pink balloons were everywhere. On my desk, pink plates, cups and utensils. Bottles of pink beverages. Platters of pink food. On the wall, a signed congratulatory note on completing my chemo treatments. I knew immediately this was the work of my staff. On my chair, from my boss, was a bag containing a beautiful pink shawl. I was touched beyond words. It was sweet. It was beautiful. It was fun.

Odd as it may sounds -- and corned beef or no corned beef -- I do believe this will go down as my favorite St. Patty's Day (and day after) of all.