Once inside a private room, my anti-nausea shot was administered, followed by the injection of therapeutic drugs. Dr. E. appeared only momentarily, yet Mom followed him out of the room to question him beyond earshot. I later learned that, tormented of heart, Mom had asked the oncologist if he thought she should quit her job to stay home and care for me. "By no means!" he answered directly. "Quitting your job of teaching might make Lauren think that you have given up hope. You must continue your lives as normally as possible." She nodded with renewed understanding and re-entered my room. The IV had nearly run its course, and the nurse stood by, ready to remove the needle as soon as the solution had emptied into my veins. "Is it okay if I take one of those?" I asked, pointing to the white canisters aligned neatly on top of the counter. "Sure," the nurse replied, handing one to my Mom. My stomach was already plotting its rebellion, and I wanted some security should an impulse overthrow my will before we returned to our motel. As long as I did not involve myself in conversation, and inhaled only short breaths of air, perhaps my qualms would subside. "There... all done," the nurse proclaimed, wrapping my hand in gauze. "Bye," I said grabbing the bandaged hand tightly; "See you tomorrow." Mom and I traced our earlier footsteps back to the Mayo building and there phoned the motel. Several minutes passed, then the courtesy van rolled up to the front doors. A doorman issued us out of the building with a friendly, "Have a nice day, now." That man was the epitome of flamboyance; he struck everyone as a neighbor rather than a stranger. He must have loved people, for people were the essential ingredient in his position at the clinic. A genuine smile, a fresh hello; he too, doled out medicine, and maybe helped to ease a few aching hearts. I was grateful to be able to collapse upon the couch and watch the T.V. from my prone position; I took no interest in books or crafts, for they seemed too taxing and exhaustive in my condition. Rest was my comfort between nausea and weakness; I welcomed nothing more than I welcomed the thought of quiet repose.