(27 Dec, 2012)
Out of hospital on Christmas eve and Christmas morning I began to suspect it hadn’t been a totally wise decision as I got up and felt breathless and tight chested.
We had a quiet Christmas just me and Jane and the boy and much of mine was spent lying on the sofa or back in bed trying to get to the end of the day without having to phone the hospital again…. unfortunately this meant waiting mostly for lunch and present opening. Yes you did read right..presents come after lunch in this house… an abomination and a cruelty (not for children as they get a stocking in the morning) but for grown-ups used to the 6am unwrapping fest… its torture.
NB this unkind tradition comes from Janes side of the family…. and weirdly my ex-husbands family have the same tradition…. HOW did I find two of them?
By the time the boy foisted presents onto my knee I was sort of beyond registering what was in them… and straight after decided to head upstairs to lie down and perhaps ring the hospital.
Top of the stairs on all fours with a tight chest and whirlwind round my head…. complete with cackling witch on a bicycle… I decided the phonecall was probably qute important.
The Haem/Oncology nurse took one look at my red blood count from the other day and couldnt understand why I’d been let home with a borderline count and put my name on a bed and said come in via A&E to be processed.
I havn’t got the energy for a full scale rant today (I’m recovering from eating a piece of toast and short shower) but three hours in A&E with a junior doctor before they decided ‘its probably’ something to do with my chemo therapy….’
no shit Sherlock!!!!! thats why haem/onc have a bed for me.
but weirdly I ended up in Emergncy short stay for observations over night….
as I walked into the room an old lady shit herself (nothing personal I don’t think) and a coughing lady was watching Eastenders full blast at which point I gained a dose of tinitus, told the staff I wanted a quiet room away or I’d discharge myself. I then wrapped my cardigan round my head and had a self indulgent five minutes of weeping and muttering.
Later (11.30pm)… in a bed in Haem/Onc (that had had my name on it since 7pm) in a totally silent and empty (apart from me and apologetic nurse who’d been told I wouldn’t be needing the bed after all) I went to sleep.
Now I’ve always been curious about this running for cancer malarky…. cancer survivers …running marathons… miles… etc etc. But having had my first day where a trip to the toilet and back is a Herculean task to get through, where each step is an accomlishment …it suddenly makes sense. The thought of walking the dog, swinging my arms and whistling Tyrolean folk songs on my way feels like another world, another life and one that looking forwards is like surveying a mountain from under a few breezeblocks and the contents of a bottle of whisky and wondering if I’ll ever get under way let alone to the top.
Two pints of blood (I’m B+ but they gave me O – so if i start belching whilst I eat and shopping at Primark you’ll know the common blood took over) and my blood pressure returned to normal (strange how in A&E it was fine whilst lying still in a bed for several hours and how general doctors don’t know whats ‘normal’ for a ‘normal’ person may well not be ‘for someone having chemo)?! and my daughter and her boyfriend (having had all the fun of a wheelchair and empty late night hospital corridors) came to take me home.
phew.
actually… that turned into a full rant again didn’t it?
(sorry)
Today…. I’m thinking differently… to get through this is going to take a military campaign. Just to start the day means my bed needs changing , breakfast, shower, establish basecamp downstairs, get dressed… each a huge effort… and then tomorrow and the next day and the next etc etc…. each day only so much energy to go round.
Like I said… military campaign.
Im going in….slowly.
