I'm home. The last 5 weeks have been a dream. It wasn't me, I haven't got the courage to have an operation. My Black Lab, Rossi ....(he's named after Francis Rossi from Status Quo. Apparently there is some motorcyclist with the same name) leaps at me. The person that gives him secret treats is back. I'm back to home comforts and I can have painkillers whenever I want. I plonk my medication on the breakfast bar and my suitcases on the floor. It's a bit of an anti-climax. You expect trumpets sounding, but it's just quiet. I check my guitars to make sure they are there. I had this horrible feeling that my wife might sell them, for the price, I said I paid for them.....(I'm not some aged rocker, well, I am, but now tend to favour a nice pastel V neck jumper more than the denim jacket of my teens). ..I'm in the lounge and I ask if I can have a painkiller. She says she is busy......DOH!
I tackle the post and parcels that have ammassed. I told my wife that if the envelopes were white, they could wait, if they were brown, just return them. There is one parcel. It's my green socks I think. I open the parcel with gusto.....Why On earth did I order a Bath Mat set from Amazon? It must have been one of those moments of boredom. Oh well.
One of the letters tells me I have an appointment in Clinic next Monday for my graft dressings to be changed. Even though it's a return to hospital, I always looked forward to these appointments. They were a great distraction from the boredom of the ward. I also felt that I had become friends with the nurses there. We had a laugh and I really felt they cared. That meant an awful lot.
I contact the friends and family that I let know about my "problem", to tell them i'm home. I don't ring, I text or for my more trendy friends, WhatsApp them. After that's done, what to do? Tea is ice cream and custard, as is breakfast, lunch and supper. I long to have a proper shower, but the bandages on my leg make that impossible. So, after my improvised wash, I go downstairs to watch 24 Hours in A&E. I'd finished Breaking Bad during my 24 hour vigils in hospital. Eventually, it's time for bed. I get into this mammoth sized bed, with sheets that smell of Scents of the Valley....I know my Conditioners......I reach for the control to move my head up...Oh Bugger...
The days pass. I sit in my chair, watching the world go by. I feel like James Stewart in Rear Window (for our younger listeners, I'm afraid you will have to Google it). There is little to report, I tune into Bargain Hunt. I will, after a few weeks become quite knowledgeable about Late Georgian Chippendale Funiture. After this, I find that Father Brown is a bit of light relief after the intensity of the Auction Room. So this will continue over the weeks, broken by follow up appointments.
My first is the leg dressing day. This is the first time that the nurses will have seen me fully clothed. What I mean by that is I'm in my civvies, not my gown and green socks. They get to work but they are soon interrupted by my Consultant. He speaks to me directly as I look respectable, ok, I haven't got my trousers on, but you know what I mean...(this is in danger of turning into a Brian Rix farce....again, for the youngsters, please refer to Google ). He says it all looks good and then without fanfare says " You will have to have Radiotherapy you know"....No I didnt. I was told that I might have to, but no-one had said anything, so I thought I'd dodged a bullet. I went quiet. The usual laughs stopped. I'd been naive. They hadn't said anything, so I never asked. I'd a vague idea what it involved. It was a little beam that they shone in your mouth to simply zap the pesky area.....I was about to embark on a steep learning curve.....
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