Natasha Melo The “Waiting to come in Charts” rack is empty. The reclining navy chairs are unoccupied and the TV sets are turned off. It‟s a rainy Wednesday morning outside but the cream and turquoise room is lit up by sounds of giggling and gossip. A pretty, petite blonde dressed in purple from head–to-toe stands among several IV poles hung with fluid-filled bags. Erika Bain, 28, starts off her day “priming the tubing.” The oncology nurse had to rise at 6:30 a.m. to walk the dog and by 8:15 a.m. she is getting ready to shine at Carlo Fidani Peel Regional Cancer Centre. “I‟d sleep in longer but I have to walk Tucker,” she says about her and her husband Jeremy‟s lab and German shepherd mix. The Humber College graduate commutes 20 minutes every morning from Milton to Mississauga where she gives chemotherapy in the new cancer centre added to Credit Valley Hospital. “Some of us like to come early since we‟ll be running our heads around here soon enough,” she says while preparing tubing for the number of patients being treated today. Based on the number of chemo tubes, it looks like Bain will be giving her New Balance sneakers a run for their money. As she prepares for a “crazy busy day,” her cheery and optimistic attitude is a nice addition in the chemo room. Although the clinic deals with grim and critical issues, the environment is warm and uplifting. The desk of the nursing station is covered with pots of blooming purple irises and yellow daffodils, rainbow-coloured Laura Secord Jellifruits
and out-of-the-oven Tim Hortons donuts, not to mention, rows of thank-you cards from patients. As Bain goes for a quick bathroom break at 8:50 a.m., she scurries past a card on the counter from Tom Leonard. “Your great attitude has made this experience more bearable. Thanks for the poison!” Obviously a joker, Leonard isn‟t the only one cracking jokes and sharing laughs. “I‟ll never forget the one time Janice‟s patient‟s hand was so pale and waxy it looked like a mannequin‟s,” she says to co-worker Angela Kurtz-Melo, while trying to control her giggles. When the first patient of the day, Allan Maxwell, enters at 9:15 a.m., the mood shifts to one of seriousness. The 77-year-old is wheeled in on a stretcher by ambulance workers since he is too frail and sick. Bain says he has Myelodysplasia, therefore his bone marrow doesn‟t properly reproduce red blood cells. His regular blood transfusions are necessary to his survival. “Not only do we do chemo, we give a lot of blood transfusions as well,” Bain adds while grabbing Maxwell a blanket. When she finishes Maxwell‟s complete patient assessment, the usual “how they are eating, bowel movements, aches and pains, sores in their mouths,” she “scans in a bar code and checks the result of the blood work.” Bain makes the process seem like a breeze. “If the results are OK we fax it to the pharmacy and get the blood or chemo,” she says while dusting off her hands in accomplishment.
By 9:20 a.m. all is well for Maxwell who reads the newspaper while blood and life flow through him. Things don‟t always run so smoothly though. One patient‟s appointment is cancelled because of problems with his blood. On his way out, he jokes, “Darn, I was looking forward to it. See you next Wednesday at 8 a.m. By the way, my appointment isn‟t „til 12 p.m.” Bain talks of the tendency for nurses to bond with certain patients more than others. “But we love them all,” she is quick to say. She recalls the difficulty that often comes along with knowing patients on a namebasis and the close ties that she‟s formed on the job the past five years she‟s been at Credit Valley, working for four years on the inpatient unit and the past year at the clinic. When her friend, Reanne Fraser, 32, was diagnosed with breast cancer, she was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Bain refused to take her on as a patient because she would feel obligated to spend more time with her and worried that she would neglect her duties towards other patients. When Fraser passed away after a year it was a difficult time. But then again, she‟s learned to separate herself emotionally. She says, “if you didn‟t form emotional connections you‟d be inhuman but you don‟t want to go home crying every night.” So Bain chooses not to dwell on the negative. As she reaches for a double chocolate donut she changes the subject. “Our patients are very generous. “They drop off lots of goodies,” she says revealing a chocolaty grin.
Just as Bain predicted, things are really picking up at the clinic. The reclining chairs are filling up with lively, spirited bodies of all races, ages and genders. Sister Janina Lasocha entered not long ago for chemo treatment and Bain is getting her settled in. The two speak in Polish, although the soft-spoken nun is overheard sharing words of wisdom with Bain. “May God bless you and help you every day,” the 73-year-old lymphoma sufferer says as Bain gets her IV prepped. At 10:30 a.m. Bain rushes over to breast cancer patient Claire Todd. The sweet, Irish woman fabulously clad in an auburn wig speaks highly of Bain and the other oncology nurses. “I see the same nurses and it makes a huge difference mentally. “There is an air of closeness here so I feel like I‟m not just a number,” Todd says. Bain looks at her with compassion and sincerity. She knows firsthand the importance of strong patient-nurse relationships. “There‟s a lot of health teaching involved and psychosocial care. “We see these people very often so they really open up to us,” she says. While removing an IV from John Warren‟s arm, Bain tells him that she still hasn‟t gotten around to Tuesdays with Morrie, the novel Warren reads while undergoing treatment. Before he leaves, Bain leans towards the skinny 74-year-old and shows him a recipe brochure for “Ensure Plus” so that he‟s able to whip up a delicious meal and increase his calorie intake.
Warren says smugly, “you come out of here feeling like there‟s hope because the nurses are so good.” When Dr. Kaiser passes through at 11:30 a.m., Bain jets over. “When we need a prescription we consult the patient‟s doctor, but sometimes it‟s hard to get in touch with them,” she says through heavy breathing after a quick chat with Kaiser. Bain says that supportive relationships and open communication between the nurses, doctors and pharmacists is key. “Would you like to check in with me?” she cordially asks co-worker Roy Ostril. They review the med sheets together. “Wanna take lunch now?” Ostril asks. “Right after I set up this patient,” she replies. Bain takes a lunch break, wolfing down lasagna and guzzling orange juice in 20 minutes, even though she‟s entitled to 45 minutes. “Since it‟s a little busier I want others to have their break. “I don‟t want to leave them straggling,” says the thoughtful nurse, always looking out for everyone‟s best interests. By 1 p.m., the oncology clinic is at full capacity. “Leela, we‟re full right now but I can set up a chair to get you going,” she says to Leela Braganca, dressed in a “Brock University Mom” sweater. Bain sets up a chair and grabs cookies for the colon cancer patient who‟s celebrating her 43rd birthday, while gossiping excitedly about the night‟s events.
“I‟m going to get prime rib from the Keg with a baked potato and sour cream,” Braganca says. Bain says, “That sounds delicious.” Although she tries to spend as much time as possible with each patient, she‟s always on the run from one patient to the next, ensuring that their needs are met. “You should really consider a Port-a-Cath, that way it‟ll be less stressful,” Bain says to Todd, who called her over to ask about the device. Todd takes into consideration her suggestions, saying, “anything to ease the pain, I‟m all for it.” Lucy Main jumps into the conversation, bragging to the nurses and patients about the spa-like conditions at the clinic. “I get spoiled while I‟m here. “This is my spa day,” the enthusiastic woman says to Bain and Todd. Bain is forced to leave the friendly conversation of patients and nurses at 3:00 p.m. to track down Dr. Kaiser, who forgot about the prescription she asked for in the morning. She checks the database to see if there are delays or appointment cancellations since some patients haven‟t shown up yet and the day is winding down. “There were 46 people today, a little more than average I‟d say,” she says as the nurses nod in agreement. Bain takes a beef patty break and begins charting at her computer station. Other than lunch, this is the only time Bain‟s been able to kick up her feet. With the sound of nurses bickering over which Pot of Gold chocolate has the cherry filling, Ostril comes over to her station and gives her a “de-stressing” head
massage. The day ends with friendly laughs about Maxwell, the frail man with a heart of gold who was the first patient to come and the last to leave. “Allan has nine lives,” Ostril says. “No he has 29 lives,” says Bain. Anxious to go home to Jeremy and Tucker, she calls it a day at 4:40 p.m. As she slips on her spring jacket and clutches her lunch bag in the nursing station, a large banner directly above her becomes noticeable. The brightly bolded letters read, “The mission of the oncology care team is to provide compassionate, quality care within a collaborative environment while maintaining our patient‟s dignity and humanity.” Bain can walk out of the chemo room, down the spiral staircase of the state-ofthe-art facility, and out of the hospital revolving doors knowing that she has done just that. She walks away saying, “The best thing about oncology patients is that they have a sense of hope despite the pain and sickness. It really makes you stop and think and appreciate.”