Nurse’s Big Personality Makes Cancer Treatment More Bearable.

Kelly Irvin was diagnosed with stage 4 ovarian cancer in January 2016. Catch up on all of Kelly's blogs here!

I’m a patient with ovarian cancer who’s been in treatment continuously for nine years, so it’s hard for me to spotlight one special nurse during National Nurse Appreciation Week. I almost feel as if I should do a top ten article. But one nurse whose support in the infusion room has impacted me the most is Marcia (Brice) Grubbs. Marcia was my nurse for my first in-clinic chemo treatment, later moved on to a new job, and then reappeared for a few years at my latest clinic. I’ll never forget her.

Marcia is a skillful, knowledgeable, smart nurse. But what makes her special goes far beyond her nursing skills. It’s her people skills that make the difference. I wish I could offer a recording of her boisterous laugh, the way she yelled out a greeting when I walked into the infusion room, and her funny stories. She made me feel welcome as a person, not just a patient. The first time she treated me, she talked me through what was happening, gave me tips for how to deal with the pain of accessing my port, answered my questions, and made me smile—something I didn’t think was possible.

I don’t think medical HR folks who do the hiring really understand what I’m talking about. Marcia remembered my name by my second treatment. She said her ability with names came from her waitressing days when it meant better tips. She was loud and funny and a lot like a favorite waitress you’d want to leave a big tip.

But she also advocated for her patients. She’s gone to bat for me with a scheduler who didn’t care that I preferred to see my oncologist and not a nurse practitioner. She listened to me when I vented my frustrations with a clinic that had too many patients, where we waited far too long for our turns in the labs and the infusion room, and where we became birth dates and not names.

Don’t get me wrong. I know cancer treatment is a serious business. Making sure patients receive the correct medications, dosages, that their side effects are monitored throughout their treatment, and the mechanics of performing these measures are critical functions of a nurse. Nurses are people. They’re not all extroverts. I don’t expect them to be. But when a nurse makes me laugh while a poisonous chemo drug is entering my body through a port attached to my superior vena cava vein near my heart, I tend to connect with her.

To really understand, imagine what the infusion room was like when Marcia moved on to another job. It was professional, but quiet and impersonal and lonely. Nurses were too busy to chat or joke or welcome a patient. They rarely smiled unless it was when talking among themselves behind the long counter that separated them from the patients.

© stock.adobe.com

Fast-forward several years later to my first visit to a clinical trial clinic which has fewer than 25 chairs instead of 99. Only five nurses and one of them was Marcia. She was studying to be a nurse practitioner, and she was even more knowledgeable. Marcia remembered me. She wore a variety of bright sneakers and occasionally did a cha-cha-cha in them. Her laughter was contagious. Patients smiled. The other nurses smiled. She shared with me about her wedding and her honeymoon—with photos. I told her about my travels, my grandkids, and the novels I was writing. She always brought me a pillow and a blanket, talked through issues with my clinical trial, and helped me get answers when I needed them. I felt at home.

Despite her busy schedule as a nurse, wife, mother, and student, Marcia made time to read a manuscript of one of my novels and correct any medical errors in a story about an oncologist and her sister who’s diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Marcia’s input was invaluable.

One day I came in for treatment, and Marcia was gone again, for reasons I won’t go into here. Suffice it to say I wasn’t the only one who shed tears. The nurses at the clinic now are lovely, kind people. They’re serious, focused, professional, and knowledgeable. All of which I deeply appreciate. I just wish one of them would do a cha-cha-cha in bright red Converse sneakers and chortle once in a while.

Thanks, Marcia! You be you, always!

For more news on cancer updates, research and education, don’t forget to subscribe to CURE®’s newsletters here.