Well to say the last two weeks have been a nightmare would not be in any way doing it justice. Hubby's bloods had stopped moving downwards after the last two sessions of chemo and terror set in - had this chemo also stopped working?
We normally call the hospital about three days after the last visit so that we can get the new blood results but this time we didn't or maybe that was couldn't. We both agreed, as you do, that we didn't want to know, that we would wait until the next visit and find out the 'bad news' then. It was the worst thing we could have done - for two weeks we hardly spoke to each other, we couldn't sleep, eat, then we became too exhausted to do anything, shopping for food came last in our minds, even the kids had to get themselves up for school. By time Thursday night came we were in a state of panic, it was too late to find out by then as the appointment was on Friday. We went to bed, did the usual tossing and turning, telling each other that all was OK, until it got so bad that we ended up getting up. Come 6am we became so tired but knew we couldn't go back to sleep.
So we sat around Friday morning, looking at the clock, unable to motivate ourselves into moving, so what if we were late, who cares, the 'bad news' could wait, but eventually we could pretend no longer and had to make our way to the hospital. We drove in silence, well almost, except for the odd pleasentary, or daft remark to try and lighten the mood. We arrived an hour late but so what I said, let them try and tell me off, I am just in the right frame of mind for an argument, but as usual the reception staff just smiled pleasantly and said go to bloods then take a seat. 'Just once', I thought, 'why didn't they shout at us and then I could let it all out'. I know that is wrong and it is not the staff's fault but this illness gets you like that at times. It can turn the most mild mannered person into a raving lunatic, and strangely enough vice a versa.
The bloods done, we now find ourselves in the 'little room' waiting on the doc. If he has the 'nurse' with him, I think to myself, then it will be bad news. So then I find myself trying to read a paper, but my mind is diverted to the footsteps outside the room. I see a set of footsteps appear but daren't look up - he' is on his own, but does that mean anything really, I ask myself.
We both smile and pass the time of day with the doc - he used to be so quiet when we first met him but I suppose after all these years you develop some odd sort of friendship - he now makes jokes with us and even laughs sometimes. We then get down to the nitty gritty - doc is flying through his speech and hubby suddenly looks at him strangely and asks that the doc repeats what he had just said. 'Your bloods are in the black, didn't you know?' asks the doc. We then go on to explain to him why after all these years of pestering his poor secretary every week why we chose not to this time.
As docs do he makes a point of saying you do know that its still in the lap of the gods, and we laugh nervously, yes of course we do, but he has just given us the best news we have had in at least three years. With hubby's history we are well aware of the possible outcome but we had got it into our heads that he was going to tell us that hubby's bloods had started to rise the wrong way again and here he was telling us the exact opposite. So for now we don't care, for now we can breathe again, for now we know that it is still working. We don't know what will happen next time or even next year but for now that's ok.
You know maybe just maybe someone is listening to my mad ramblings in the dark of the night.
Ray x
