Post 389: Step 1; injection 2nd; Health Review
Weight: 12st 1lb (stable)
(12st 1lb ≈ 76.7 kg/6 ft ≈ 1.83 m)
BMI ≈ 22.9
Zoladex injection: 8am
Temp: normal
Feeling bright as a button today. Which is great compared to yesterday.
Getting up early is not my thing, as I’ve not done it for years unless it’s a special occasion. I’ve worked nights/lates for around twelve years, so the dawn is not often seen.
But with an 8am injection I’ve got to get cleaned up early.
The best feeling today is that my shoulder is showing more signs of movement while showering. This is probably helped by the soapy arm being more able to slide further around my back; and considering that I couldn’t get it around my back at all a few weeks ago, I can now hold my right hand with my left behind my back, which is magic. That’s progress.
I can also rub the top of my head, which has been un-navigated territory for so long. So I’m happy.
But the reason for such an early start is the Hormone therapy drugs which always wipes the smile off my gob.
The Zoladex needle is huge and not to be looked at by the squeamish, so I don’t. I do watch it get out of the box and sometimes it’s shown to nurses being trained, that are seeing it for the first time. It’s gross. We all squeal inside when the needle of the injector goes in the belly.
But it’s normally ok — after 10 minutes.
The wait in the surgery was just enough time to get my diary straight on my phone. Overnight I had a Patient Knows Best email notification about an appointment on Monday next week with a Dr I don’t know, how bizarre.
I was called in by Sarah, the nurse I normally have, and although she put me at ease and I was relaxed, the push of that horrendously big spear injecting the wee cartridge of Zoladex was still an anxious moment when it was jabbed in.
But I survived.
So I went to get a twelve-week appointment for yet another of the same injections, and the nurses’ computer diary doesn’t go far enough into the future for this booking. Computer says no!
It always used to.
I’ll have to remember to ring up in a month or two’s time and book it.
I hope I remember.
I got home and had a clear-up in the kitchen. I have only one job but still I don’t do it after dinner. Washing up the dinner plates — damn it, I forgot again. So I got busy this morning and, while I was doing my chores, I made a coffee out of my special cafeteria and had my usual breakfast of the sweetest nutty and crunchy cornflakes, after which I got comfortable in my TV seat and turned the TV on.
In my gut I feel like I’ve forgotten something, or is it nerves? Butterflies in my tummy.
Maybe the injection that’s disturbed them.
Maybe not.
Anyway, before and after the butterflies I’ve become tearful. I don’t know why.
I’m a great big baby just now.
I’d like to get to work. I’d like to have more strength in my shoulder. I’d like to win some money and know my Darling had enough to stay put in the house we live in and carry on doing what she does now. I want a lot of things and worry about them all.
Maybe that’s why I’m tearful.
Why do I have to weep so much? I’m easily triggered lately.
I feel well this morning, so why the tears?
My Darling has loads on her plate and maybe the fact that she keeps so much in is why I worry.
Worries about nothing.
Worries about worries.
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Talking of my Darling, she came down from a well-earned lie-in and looked full of mischief, but she found me relatively unresponsive. I did say good morning but didn’t feel the need to reciprocate in her cuddle and kiss. She knew summit-was-up.
The phone rang and my Darling went out the lounge door and left me to it. It was a call from the hospice, but not the normal call from a nurse however. It was the call I had been warned about that was more a “how are we treating you?” call from the hospice
There were only four questions and the last was a “so tell me in your own words…” and I waxed lyrically but honestly about how I feel about how the hospice has treated me. It was easy. The hospice have done so much for me, I’m in their debt.
After I finished, there was a short continued silence from the hospice trustee after which he said very seriously, “You have been very eloquent in your answers and I thank you for your time.”
I know I tripped up on my tongue because I put myself under pressure because the trustee sounded dead “posh”, if you know what I mean, posh and polite but very friendly; he reiterated to my surprise that “you had been very eloquent, and I’m grateful for your sincere reply”.
I put the phone down and my Darling came back in the room asking who it was on the blower.
I tried to say it was the hospice with a “how are we doing?” call… but I started to snivel and totally broke down crying my eyes out. I had tried my best to tell the trustee guy that I’m so indebted to the hospice it’s incredible.
My Darling grabbed me in the biggest cuddle while I wept on her shoulder. Oh my, I was so tearful in a good way but over emotional. But I count help myself,, I sort of needed that; I sort of wanted that. But can I keep it together later at work, I thought.
I was then able to watch a bit of tv with my Darling at my side but it wasn’t long before I was told to go upstairs and get some rest.
Which I did. I was dog tired. I couldn’t keep my eyelids open.
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The staircase was unusually hard to climb today, but I didn’t take any heed of it. I just jumped into bed and tried to read a bit, but that was hopeless — I kept nodding off.
But here’s the issue. I woke with breathlessness a couple of times; the last time was a huge breathless gulp of air, and I mean huge. It scared me a bit and I was so worried I used the online website111 to check it out. After the check it said ring NHS 111, which I didn’t do. Instead I called down to my Darling and we went through the symptoms and used the thermometer and oximeter to check my stats. The temp was good and the oxy was not. It read between 94/96. The blood pressure was ok though.
That I feel ok is ok. There are no blue lips or continual breathlessness meant it would be better if we monitor ed it for now and, with the blood test tomorrow, we should be ok to wait for the results from it. I’m sure I’ll be ok.
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Can you tell the blog is being done “on the hoof” today. I don’t normally, but for some reason I did. I don’t think I’ll do it often but it makes it more interesting for you, the readers today perhaps.
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I went to the health review and all that I said was taken in and all they wanted will be done, and the only problem that I see is that the fit note might bugger up the ESA benefit I’m on. I know I’ve checked it’s ok but I’m still bothered by it.
I’m allowed to work up to 16 hours and I’m only asking to work 6 hours so that’s not a problem. The problem is that because I’m classified as an SR1 person (a dead man walking) ie. about one year till I die — that’s not my thinking by the way, that’s the official reasoning.
So will the fit note push my sick pay status for the ESA over the edge and end it?
Oh my.
I do worry about things too much.
I do want to work if I’m allowed.
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I’ve got a nagging doubt about something.
Maybe it’s the car sale. The Volvo photos were available (to me) tonight and they are fabulous. The auction will be running from next weekend for a week. Maybe it’s that that’s got me in a spin.
I know I’m doing the right thing but this was not the way it should have been.
It was our retirement friend, not a car that’s now in the way because I can’t drive it easily. It has to go.
So there it is.
I’ve got a blood test midday tomorrow and now a mystery doctor’s appointment next Monday, probably for the atrial fibrillation annual check.
That reminds me, those few gasps waking me up this afternoon are a worry, a real worry. It can’t be right. I wonder if it’s that that’s got me in a tiz.
Oh well I’ll sleep on it.
Nite nite,
Take care
