My second infusion, "neoadjuvant" chemotherapy, since it's administered before surgery - was on December 5th, 2014. My boyfriend worked from home that day so he could take me to treatment, but we fought that morning (why argue with someone about to get chemo?) so I went without him. I had enough on my mind, and pulsing through my body, that I just needed comfort and support. My mom insisted on coming with me, and I told her she was only welcome if she didn't talk about meatballs. My dear mom is off-the-boat Italian and all she talks about is food, especially meatballs; it satisfies her to feed me, and me being a picky eater...well, you can imagine our conversations! I was not excited about entering my second round of treatment. I was told to look at the treatment as soldiers running through my body, invading the cancerous cells. I preferred to think of them as hot, Roman gladiators like Russell Crowe! I was feeling a little back to normal, and I knew another wave of illness was going to overtake me; the nurse told me "the trick:" take the anti-nausea pill before I start feeling nauseous. Why didn't the oncologist tell me that? I learned the value of my chemo nurses, and I started to rely on them more and more. My nurse from today on is Sue, a familiar face: I worked with her twenty years ago when I was an admitting clerk in this Emergency Room. She was the head nurse back then, and very competent, so I know I'm in good hands. Back then she was very serious, but on the second floor, in the infusion room, she's gentle, kind and smiles a lot!