Sunday morning and another bowl of milky porridge then four hour obs – temperature, blood pressure, blood sugar and pulse are becoming a tad monotonous. Sitting around waiting for the doctor. “Hello” He said, “I am extremely perturbed about your blood results”
Oh shit!, I thought, what’s up now. He explained, “ I am concerned about your results because I haven’t seen them – they have got lost in the system.” Ah the system – that’s what it’ll be.
The Wilkie curse strikes again. I don’t want any sympathy – it just happens. My close friends know it is true but when I tell relative strangers they don’t believe me. It took me four years to get a passport but that's another (long) story.
“You can’t go home until you have another blood test” he smiled. So another day in hospital. The mysterious man has disappeared – apparently he couldn’t stand bright lights so he kept the curtain closed.
I told the doctor that I contacted the hospital because I had an infection and knew I needed antibiotics as I was frightened that it might develop into neutropenia which can be fatal. MY GP would not prescribe anti-biotics without the oncology departments say so, you are not allowed to have dental treatment while undergoing chemo so the only place left was hospital. He said that I had done the right thing but I would not go home until I had the blood test. The doctor also took away my tupperware box with all of my drugs in to write them down. Again.
Then they came for a blood test which they promised not to lose.
The staff nurse said I was “self medicating” which they don’t like you doing but when she looked in my box of drugs she decided to let me carry on because it would take her half a day to sort all of them out. It only takes me twenty minutes or so.
Sunday afternoon and Eleanor. Antony, Lyndsey and Irene came to visit. I showed Eleanor my adjustable bed and when the staff nurse came I told Eleanor she was the boss and would tell her off if she got caught on my bed so she hid.
The staff nurse came with three swabs. “We are screening everyone for MRSA.” “Yes, already done it” I replied, feeling very smug. “Well we are going to do it again” she said, “better safe than sorry.”(Something else with Wilkie written on it got lost in "the system" no doubt.) “There are three swabs” she went on, “One for the area around the nose, one at the sight of the canula and one ……”
“Yes I know, “ I replied. “Been there, done that, got the T shirt etc.” So off I went to scrape my perinium. I preferred the first description from the other nurse – much more amusing. Much funnier!
