Zero Tolerance - T's Day 25 A.S.

Well as I'm, sure you've caught up with on A's blog, we got the results on Friday afternoon. This was not without trial and tribulation in itself. We parked, as always arrived way too early, and then sat on a bench in the car park in the sunshine til just before the appointment. We were the first appointment after lunch. I sat on the bench and mused about the "what if's" of what they might say and how I might feel and really ... I had no idea. We whiled away twenty minutes, picked up our stuff and headed in. Sometimes I wish I wasn't a designer. I wish I could walk into a space, any space and not think "God, what awful colours" or "Why did they think that putting that THERE was a good idea?". It's the same in restaurants when I see menus or adverts of business cards - anything that someone had "designed" my critical bosses eye clicks in and I start tutting at everything that is wrong. And so we entered the Waiting Room in the hospital. Perhaps it was some person with a Jekyll and Hyde, Laurence Llewllyn Bowen meets Nazi Concentration Camp sense of aesthetics, but it was by any standards appalling. Bear in mind that most of the people who pass through this room are waiting for news of either prostate, bladder or kidney cancer ...... and then consider the grey, lifeless prison-like corridor they have you wait in - with all the chairs lined up down each side (slightly too close to be comfortable and so that the only way you can appear to not be staring at your fellow patients is to stare fixedly at the floor). The carpet was one of those dire grey/blue tweedy mixes that will never look clean and leaches what little light there is from every surface. On the expanse of blu-tack marked grey white walls was a tiny 1970s oil painting of a junk in Hong Kong that looks like it was painted by my cat. Better yet, in the midst of this depressing, drain the life from you blandness someone had obviously reflected for a moment on the overall appeal of the place, and wondered "you know, perhaps it looks a little ... dull?" Said person had probably run back to their office in order to fix the problem, spied something wonderful in the catalogue and ordered some nice new chairs ... in yellow. Not, you understand, that buttery warming sunshine yellow, that warms up even the coldest of rooms and reminds you of daffodils and buttercups and custard and always makes you smile - this was more of a putrid sickly yellow green, like a pile of rotting bananas just before the flies land. Sigh. And they were wipe clean leatherette. Never mind, I thought to myself as A rearranged his legs for the tenth time in two minutes (when you have surgery and have suddenly lost a lot of weight, and your bum loses all its padding, uncomfortable seating takes its toll very quickly!) we won't be here long - just to confirm I checked the clock with one minute to go til appointment time. We watched the hand tick past the next 60 seconds, and waited and waited ........ During the next hour we watched those hands move round on the clock many times. A got more and more uncomfortable and I got more and more anxious, vowing to enquire about who makes the decisions about waiting rooms and quelling my desire to run to Homebase and buy a tin of something bright and cheery and sploosh it on one of the walls while we waited. They lost A's notes, then found them by which time someone else had made it in to the consultant. One whole hour later we were finally called through. His tumour had mixed reviews ....... it had not managed to spread its nastiness to his lymph nodes but it had pushed itself along for the anticipated T3 to a full on T4. No chemo, no radiotherapy, both of which are unproven on clear cell adenocarcinomas and so we are all going to wait... 3 months to next check up ......... and we were out in the sun again. Hmmm, waiting .... not sure I have the best track record at that! ;-) Anyway, we headed home and had a glass of wine, dinner and a quiet night which was nice. Saturday was much the same, I needed to go and do some food shopping and A said he would like to come along, but he got tired as I think he overdid it a little. We curled up on the sofa and had dinner and watched trash (X factor, my fav) and then it was morning. A was in a disgruntled mood yesterday ... he didn't sleep and had a bad back and didn't want to eat ...... and yet he still wanted to go to a friend's allotment day. I drove there and he wandered a little then settled down in a chair and had a cup of tea. It was good - the sun was out, there were friends to talk to and it was lovely to be doing something. Unfortunately when we got home his back got worse and he got "snippy". I am sure that he would profess he was no such thing, but the trouble is when he feels tired or uncomfortable he puts up a veneer of "fine" and "yes I'm doing well" but he gets very, very difficult to please. So yesterday afternoon I ran the gamut of "too hot, too cold, can you get me ....... some paracetemol; ibuprofen; a hot water bottle; some more water; a cup of tea; my night bag; my jumper; my dinner (which I spent almost an hour cooking and then he poked around at it and ate a few bits and then apologised that he wasn't feeling that hungry) ... etc. All i wanted to do was sit down, but I feel like I spent almost the whole weekend doing things that achieved basically nothing. Now I know I should be being the good carer, but after only three and a half weeks of running round I had to practically bite my own arm of so I didn't say something mean. I am a crap nurse. And my poor A is equally, if not more frustrated than I, and when i think about it i those terms I feel sorry that I am being a crap nurse ..... I really do, but when I get home and start doing the whole, dinner, water, hot water bottle routine I feel the resentment building at having to do absolutely everything again. Yet, I won't let anyone else help me! Doh! Hopefully when I get home in a wee while A will be feeling brighter, his back won't ache and I will stop being crap nurse and bitch from hell everytime he asks me to do something. Afternoon to you all - patients and carers - this can be a tough job at times. Hugs (and thank you for reading my rahs!) T x