The Churchill was actually reasonably efficient today.
Yes, I'll give you a moment to recover before I go on.
Okay. You ready? Right:
1) Rose the Senior Chemo Nurse got the cannula in first time;
2) The chemo team had passed on my details to the line nurses, so I'm set (at least in theory) for a PICC line next week. Happy birthday to MEEEE;
3) A doctor from the oncology ward came down to find me in the Day Treatment Unit (where I was) to let me have the details of my next tummy drain instead of trying to phone me at home (where I was not);
4) We got through treatment in under four hours. Yay!
Let me rewind a wee bitty bit. Yesterday I saw the oncologist, which turned out to be Dr Nicum herself (I usually get a random registrar). She thinks I'm looking better - but then, I was practically at death's door last time I saw her, so I'm not sure that's saying much - and I certainly feel a lot better. Not physically so much, alas, but mentally; I've been in this awful mental fog for ages where I could barely speak or think or function and, by contrast, I'm now almost back to normal (not that that's saying much, and nor is it getting my book reports written; not that that matters, it's only for LibraryThing). I even came up with my very own intelligent question about what to do when we're in Manchester next week if I happen to be taken ill, which god forbid. (Answer: phone the usual triage number, but, if it's bad, go to Manchester A&E and shout "I'M ON CHEMO!" at them. I wonder if I could ask them about HIPEC at the same time ...?) However, my CA125 levels are still stupidly high, and, as you will have gathered, I need another tummy drain to get rid of a build-up of ascites. I was really hoping that the chemo would stop the ascites, but evidently not. Oh, well. It's a bugger, but never mind.
Oh - Shibani asked what we were going to Manchester for and, before we could answer, the student she had sitting in with her muttered "Bruce". That's my girl!
We also mentioned the problem the chemo nurses have been having with my veins, so she sent us off to the Day Unit to refer it to the line nurses and get the ball rolling. Which we did. While we were there, we got one of the chemo nurses to take my bloods, which saved waiting for the phlebotomist, who appeared to be on a go-slow; it was taking something like 15 minutes per person, and I reckon she was popping out for a cup of tea and a fag in between each patient. In which case, god help her.
So: consultant and bloods on Monday, chemo today, drain tomorrow, no jam ever. And my hair is falling out for the second time. FML, or not?
Maybe not. As we all know, there are - all together now - plenty worse off. And hey, at least it means we get out of the house every day.
On a brighter note, my lovely sister Penny and her husband Mak came for a visit on Sunday - eventually; they got lost a couple of times en route. My nephew Ben had been going to come too, but I'm told he was too hungover. Tsk. Penny and Mak live in Penzance, so obviously I hardly ever see them, but they'd been on holiday to Bruges (churches and art galleries, apparently) and had stopped off in Bristol, where quite a lot of my family seems to have washed up, on the way home. It was wonderful to see them, even though Penny unerringly sat down next to the one bit of the sitting room I hadn't dusted properly! My unspeakable younger brother seems to be being an ass to Penny too now - it's nice to know it's not just me, that's all. Also, they brought cookies, and also also I thereby discovered that I can eat cookies, indeed, two cookies at a time, and I call that a win.
I'm hoping that Tim will be able to come and see me too, on Friday; that's always good, and will (maybe) cheer me up after all the medical stuff.
(Then the weekend, and then back to the Churchill for the PICC line and bloods, and then back to the Churchill again for next week's chemo, still no jam. Tea break over, back on your heads.)
Right. Drain tomorrow, and they might want to keep me overnight. It's scheduled for 1.30, and they leave the tube in for six hours, so ... we'll see. I hope not, but, if they do, I suppose I can stand it. Note to self: pack the bear!
