Chemo conversations

Yesterday the talk was all about the election, though, as usual when strangers get together there was little partisanship. What we shared was a feeling of relief that it's finally over combined with a feeling of equal relief that we'd all survived this far to see it.
I talked with one woman, though, who wasn't interested in the election. She'd been diagnosed with breast cancer in April, had gone through surgery and chemo, thought she was fine, and then they'd found some more spots. So now she's just started a three-chemo combination treatment plus radiation. What bothered her most was losing her hair. She was wearing a very nice scarf and full makeup, but she was clearly very depressed. "I haven't even let my husband see me without hair. I just couldn't. I wear these little nightcaps to bed."
Jerry said, "He wouldn't mind seeing you without hair, would he?"
"Oh, he says that he doesn't care, but I just couldn't. And now it's starting to grow back from the last time and I'm going to lose it again."
She was also worried about the radiation, and didn't seem encouraged when I told her how easy (comparatively, and for the breast) it is. "I don't know how I can go through it all."
When I found out that she would be at the Chemo Room for seven and a half hours yesterday, I felt a lot of sympathy for her. She was alone, no one to play Scrabble with, scared and depressed, and stuck there, tethered to the IV pole for an entire day.