The night before a first treatment, somebody is standing in a kitchen with a tote bag open on the counter, trying to figure out what to put in it. That’s usually the spouse. Sometimes it’s a daughter. They’ve been handed a folder of printouts about side effects and port care and when to call the after-hours line, and somewhere in there was a line that said bring a snack. That’s it. That’s the whole instruction. So the bag gets filled with crackers and a granola bar and whatever was in the pantry, because it’s ten at night and there’s a…
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