Post 432: An Iron Infusion, a Sunny Day and a Tearful Ending.
There’s nothing like a busy day and this one could have been, but for some fantastic timing by pure accident.
The Health and Social Care Connect team had promised a look-in and the doctor at the hospice a call too. There was work this afternoon and, before that, an iron infusion at the local hospital.
Not a bad day, but if the timings slipped this could be a pain, and I wanted them all to be peachy.
But first, a nice guy from a section of the Pension company rang about GDPR and the facts surrounding my access to a load of conversations pertinent to the complaint about my drawdown.
It really hurts and the loss of £27k is not to be sniffed at, especially as that money is ultimately my Darling’s in the end.
I’ve ruined all the money she will need…
Anyway, there were tears and I got off lightly, and because of that start, it’s only now I come to think of it. I had packaged that memory away, for good reason.
Moving on quickly, I rested back in bed as my Darling headed for the kitchen and an apparent peanut butter and banana toastie. This was a treat she was giving herself after a waxing, although I still don’t know if she actually got it.
While she was away I had my first call.
The doctor from the hospice rang to ask me how things were and, when he realised the steroids were the best thing ever (in my eyes), he decided to explain the way I will be weaned off them slowly and how the other tool, Gabapentin, will take their place.
That done, we were done.
Another happy customer.
Thank you, Doctor.
A prescription was sent to the pharmacy and the GP was informed.
Cracking start.
There was a knock on the front door and the lady from the social care team was there.
She immediately and easily navigated her task, even before I sat down.
She was here because, when I was at my worst physically, I asked and was easily referred to see about a riser-recliner chair.
But seeing as I’m fully mobile this week, I cannot perceive anyone advising I should have one, especially off the council.
It’s a timing thing.
If she had come last week I could not have got quickly to the door and the seat would have been more likely a goer.
But not this week.
I explained everything and so did she.
The thing I learned was that having an aid can reduce movement from your own self and getting a chair too early might hamper a longer period of stability in my frame that could be taken away if I had the chair to lean on — quite literally.
So she left the building with a no-sale and I was happy to see her off with nothing more than her number, in case things changed.
It wasn’t long before the banana had been eaten downstairs and the shoes were being applied to feet for the trip to the hospital and my infusion.
This was ordered by my oncologist last week and it was to be delivered on the ward where I had my chemo infusions.
I didn’t like being back but I was given a bed quickly and a couple of bloods were taken for their checks.
But it wasn’t long before my blood pressure became the thing.
It was low.
24/6/26
BP 88/52 (89/43)
Sats 97
Temp 36.6
I was deemed dehydrated and asked to drink loads of water to get the BP up.
As for the iron infusion, we thought it would be a long time before it started but no — very nearly immediately I was hooked up to the stand and the pump started bleeping quietly with its regular clicks and pings by my left ear.
My Darling grabbed the seat beside me that I was not allowed to stay in due to my condition, so I was in bed with my feet up.
In terms of what could be happening, I think it’s unsettling to me that I’m still on Bisoprolol and not the Sotalol I was on for this last year - since those pesky clots.
It’s the Bisoprolol that lowers my blood pressure fast.
A pill in the pocket is a dizzy pill if I’m not mistaken — for me anyway.
Within an hour I had finished the iron infusion and, because the doctor on the ward still didn’t like my dehydration, he advised a bag of saline solution to go with the bottled water I had been swilling orally too.
Before long we were on our way.
The top BP figure was nearly 100 so they agreed I could go, but three steps into that journey out of the ward sent me grasping for a chair, and a porter was hailed to get me safely to the front of house. I was as dizzy as hell but by the time we got to the front door I was good.
Oh my, what a lamb am I.
My Darling fetched the car and, as we headed home half an hour before work started, I said that to save the bother I’d go in early and leave early.
How’s that?
Work was good and I was picked up earlier than normal and headed home for that lovely half-pie roast I ate yesterday and could finish today.
The heat today was an all-time record of 36.1 degrees somewhere in Blighty and it was over that in our kitchen after the roast was cooked.
But I fixed up a romcom to ease the pain.
It was a normal little story of sadness and fear, of the absolute love of two sisters, one of whom was truly ill.
The story was quirky due to the digital messages sent by the live sister telling her departed sister what was going on, and held our attention but as it slipped into the later quarter of the story, there was a whoosh.
That’s the only way I can describe it.
I had the tears that would sink a battleship.
I couldn’t speak, I just sobbed.
I had no actual feeling that it was triggered by the storyline — it wasn’t there yet.
My Darling tried to help and cuddled me and tried to console me, to no avail.
It didn’t help.
I just couldn’t stop.
Oh Lordy.
What was the matter with me?
The film was over and I could extricate myself from a confused, but not too worried, Darling, but I had to get up and go to the garage and stop the snivelling in a place of comfort.
Relative comfort anyway.
I mopped up and stayed out of the way in the cool back garden for a long while, still wondering what had actually happened.
But there were no answers under the Mini bonnet.
Clearly I’m still exhausted and emotionally drained by the happenings of these last few weeks.
I’ve let my distractions of supporting others and looking for future adventures sit on the shelf.
Perhaps I need more thought about these issues.
I need something.
So keep drinking water, folks.
Your body depends on water as much as those pesky pills.
Good night.
Take care.
PS: The film was on Netflix and was called Voicemails for Isabelle.
