Home Sweet Home

The View from the Ward on Tuesday Morning - A beautiful sky

It's good to be home.

The first thing I do is strip off and get everything in the washing machine, as it all reeks of hospital. I can't describe the smell, and you certainly don't notice it while on the ward, but once home it seems very strong... disinfectanty kind of affair.

The second thing I do is hit the sofa, under a blanket and sleep for ages, until I feel well enough to get in the bath with loads of lavender.

This last visit was quite a peaceful affair. I was put in the same bay as before, but there were only two other women in with me this time. One was a newbie, and the other started her journey in July last year. The newbie was a lovely lady in her 60s, and was so calm she put me to shame! I was in tears my first visit and was shaking so badly I could hardly stand! And she was all on her own. So impressed! The other lady was my age, and had been in for a fortnight because radiotherapy had burnt her breast so badly she had a massive infection. She'd packed to go home 4 times and was gutted at being there another night. She said they'd lost 3 patients last week. That's the worst thing for me about being a cancer patient - it's seeing all these other people going through hell, and even worse, THE WORST, dying.

*Shudders*

On a lighter note (?!) the newbie had her cannular put in by a student, and I really felt for them both when the veins popped three times and a more senior nurse had to intervene. Luckily for me, the more senior staff do mine, as my veins are tiny and tend to run away when they see anything pointy coming! The lady remained a lady throughout and even tried to cover her winces. I, meanwhile, am effing and blinding as the cannular goes in smoothly and without a hitch - and you should hear me when they cock it up!

We three ladies chatted for a while, but unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately for them with my inane banter!), I went down hill quite fast this time. Once the old Cisplatin started pumping through, I was sick as a dog. The new driver for anti-nausea didn't work as I can't have the sedative (makes me nuts for a week), so I had to have a deep intramuscular injection with more anti-nauseas. Bleugh! Sick bowls at the end of the bed, curled up all foetal, the works. The injection hurt like hell too - "Curl those toes!" said the nurse, but it worked within 15 mins so I tried to be as gracious as I could!

When it came to the next lot though, I was begging for tablets form!

All the staff this visit were superb. The nurse on night duty this time was particularly wonderful - offering us tea in the middle of the night when waking us up for meds, running over as soon as the IVs started beeping, and unplugging us the instant the last bag of fluids was done. I could have kissed her, really. Don't know where the dragon got to, but did hear of a few more complaints...

So. Three down, one to go. And I'm still here. Livestrong!

The Lung nurse just rang me to say there's still no conclusive news from my CT scan because no one's measured it yet. Am slightly peeved about that, but it doesn't appear to have grown any. She said they can't tell if it's moved away from the nerves yet (which would make me operable), and apologised profusely. She said I sounded a bit down! I said, I'm just knackered and nauseas and a bit miffed that there's no news - as you would be!

The thought of surgery terrifies me. Is that normal?!