My Brain On Chemo

Dan Barry: ... Cancer, as is often said, tends to focus the mind. But my diagnosis hovered in the theoretical until the moment I began the first of six rounds of chemotherapy, each one requiring a five-day hospital stay. The nurse hung bags of clear, innocent-looking liquid from an IV pole, found a plump vein along my right arm — and the fog slowly lifted.

Sickened by the mere smell of food, I suddenly saw the wonder in the most common foods: an egg, a hard-boiled egg. Imprisoned and essentially chained to an IV pole, I would stare out my hospital room window at the people below, and feel a rush of the purest envy for their routine pursuits. Imagining the summer night air blowing cool through sweat-dampened shirts, I'd think how good a $3 ice cream would taste right about now, or a $5 beer, and how nice it would be to watch a baseball game of no consequence.

Men acting like boys, hitting, throwing, running on grass. I used to play baseball.