Post 164: What a turn around.
No pains when Mrs U checked on the patient today, so he said. But where did they go?
———
His Darling has now stolen his drug-sorting hat and is trying to help the day roll on, with every new pill adjustment making things a bit smoother for him hopefully. Not many changes this morning, but after yesterday’s stressful day, who knew what state he would be in? So she’s Nurse U today — and for the foreseeable future.
Nurse U was open-mouthed when she offered a booster of oral morphine and it was refused on the grounds of: “no pain equals no need for that opiate — not now anyway. But I do need the loo.”
After a complex but amusing 15 minutes of bed–remote-control abuse, and some heroic wriggling to escape his sleeping position, the patient somehow made it out. A little release for the nurse, and a bigger one for the bursting bladder.
It was too early for the first pills, but the light was creeping around the garden, so down they went together to watch a K-drama, both enjoying the TV while waiting for the tablet alarm.
The day passed in that gentle way. The relaxed atmosphere was the biggest difference.
There had been smiles and laughter yesterday amongst the tears and pain, but so much was happening all at once — medical, practical, emotional — it was hard to untangle what helped most. Today, by contrast, was calm. The tears of desperation Mr U shed yesterday were dried up by every squeeze of his hand from Mrs U this morning, and the new lounge chair gave him a sense of freedom: he could get up when he wanted, even without thinking. The only shadow was the stubborn tummy backup, now the number-one concern, though easier to manage with better access to the loo.
Later the steroids followed a sloppy Weetabix, and the promised call from Ms C came through, checking how the new bed and chair had worked yesterday and overnight. She even promised to pop in and demonstrate how to get in and out safely in 90mins — which gave them just enough time for showers.
Nurse U carved a pathway to the bathroom and left him to it, though she hovered nearby just in case. No trouble was had. A shave, a shower, clean teeth — all adding to the sense of recovery.
Of course, being a snail in the bathroom meant the doorbell rang just as he was towel-drying. With a holler that he was “decent,” up came Nurse U and the wonderful Ms C after being left in the waiting room for common decency to return upstairs, sparing the patients blushes.
The show-and-tell was almost laughably easy. Within minutes he was pressing buttons like a pro, showing off several times just to prove it. With that huge hurdle cleared, they turned to bathroom plans. Rails, supports, layout — Ms C sketched it all out. Back downstairs, they talked through dietary advice for bowels post-chemo. Ms C reassured them they’d stay on the main list but if things changed rapidly to contact her directly. Warm smiles, efficient care, and another sigh of relief from the U household.
Mr U was a happy lad. His arms worked better today, and getting in and out of both bed and chair made life feel possible again. Nurse U grabbed her own shower knowing he was safely settled, and the rest of the day was simple: food, planning, easy TV. In the evening he even practised bed entry with a bit of pride.
And the ultimate test? How much extra oral morphine was needed. Just one dose at bedtime.
That speaks for itself.
There’s a long way to go, but he’s edging forward. Being able to say chemo is finished is the best feeling. He’ll never ring the clinic bell, but it’s ringing in his head right now — yes, even over the tinnitus.
Sleep well, and may you also thrive, as the U’s will undoubtedly.
