Part Three are various accounts of my friends, all along the lines of "You're awesome". You don't want to read all of that so I'm skipping that chapter.
Chapter 4 – Treatment Phase One
Before we continue, a disclaimer. When I started writing this, I was prepared against the bad memories it would cause. NOT against the trouble of actually remembering stuff. It may be a coping mechanism that I've sub-consciously put in place, it may be that I'm just plain forgetful. In any case, I'm basically piecing this together as I write it. If there are any inaccuracies, do forgive me.
Anyway, on with the story!
So, I got moved to Birmingham Children's Hospital. Essentially what happened was, I got woken up at 6am, waited until about 10am (Why?!) and then got driven across Birmingham by a sat-nav that couldn't find a barn if it was standing in it.
So, we arrived about quarter past twelve, if my memory serves me correctly, when we were meant to be there for twelve. Didn't seem to make much difference, all that happened is we were given a bed... and waited.
And waited...
A doctor came round, did a full medical examination (I mean full full. Thank God for curtains) and then... walked off again. And we waited. Again.
Eventually a doctor came over and reeled off my own medical details, replaced the cannula again, gave some details as to the future, and left us alone.
I'll give you some details about how they replace cannulas here. (The squeamish may stop reading, and skip this bit) What they do is, they get a tube of anaesthetic gel/cream and squeeze it onto the point where the cannula goes. Then they cover it with a patch of some sort, and wait about 45 minutes. After that, they approach with the dreaded thick-papier-machier-tray of needles, remove patch, find the vein, and gently stab your arm. The actual cannula doesn't hurt any more than taking the patch off does. In fact, taking the patch off hurts more, it stings.
Now, one of the problems here was, this time they decided they wanted the cannula in my elbow. In the wrist, it isn't so bad, you can still write, just about, and lift food to your mouth. When it's in your elbow, you can barely bend it at all before you feel the little tube in your blood vessel pressing against the inside of the joint. And eating a meal with your left hand is tricky.
(OK, squeamish people, you can look again) So, we stayed there, watched some TV, chatted a bit, and had dinner there. Now, I've heard all sorts of horror stories about NHS food (too much emphasis on recycling, mostly) but the food at BCH isn't that bad. Granted, it's not something I particularly want to eat again, but it's relatively tasty and actually does serve as a reasonable morale boost.
I think it was about this time (I mean while I was in that ward, so more likely a couple days later) they wanted to do three things. One, remove a lymph node to determine the best treatments. Two, insert a central line to stop having to insert constant cannulas all the time. Three, remove some spinal fluid to test that for various things (the procedures called a lumbar puncture, which sounds like something out of a guide to tree surgery). Now obviously they weren't going to do that while I was awake, that might hurt quite a bit. SO, I had to go down to theatre, and go under a general anaesthetic.
So, they put me in a surgery gown (At least I could wear my underpants!), dragged me down to theatre, where they stuck me on a narrow bed, inserted ANOTHER cannula, and asked me to count to ten. Being a smartass, I counted to ten in English, French and German. I think I was counting to twenty when the anaesthetic kicked in, I don't remember. The only thing I remember, and the best way to describe it, is like this. Imagine looking at the ceiling, then suddenly looking at a different ceiling with no break in between them. Very weird. Very, very weird, it was.
So after I reacclimatised to being awake, had a look round what they did to me. I was still quite groggy at that point, so all I could work out was there were two dressings either side of that lump (Remember the lump from earlier? It's still there the bastard), another cannula in my list, my lower back hurt, and there was a tube sticking out my ribcage.
Now, I'll explain what a central line is. It's a tube that enters through the right side of the chest, goes up the outside of the ribs, then down inside the ribcage until the end sits in the SVC (superior vena cava, one of the main veins leading to the heart). Occasionally it can actually go into the heart itself, it doesn't matter much. Now, the end sticking out the side of my chest came out with about five inches of white tube, then it split into two shorter tubes, one capped in red, the other capped in white.
So, I sat there like like an idiot for a while, had a brief text conversation with a friend, then got back to the important hospital business of being bored, ill, and generally feeling a bit pathetic and sorry for myself.
After a while, the doctors came over, gave me the once over, and announced the next phase of the plan. Basically it revolved around a chemotherapy course, with four different drugs doing various strange and nasty things, but really only one part sunk in...
I could go home!
