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| Very soon I shall be as bald as this again. |
The Drain Cleaner
Of course there has been the normal curved ball or two - for instance yesterday (Wednesday) my brand spanking new PICC line decided to block up. Not a good start. So Tamsin, one of the most patient and caring of the staff nurses here (not that any of them aren't I hasten to add) spent a happy twenty minutes gently pushing what can only be described as a medical version of drain cleaner - or the sort of stuff I used to clean a motorbike exhaust out with - through a syringe into my line and gently sucking it back again until at last some blood appeared and we appear to have unblocked the blockage. Well done Tamsin.
She also explained that the old style lines used to require a 'hep-lock' after every use, a chemical Heparon pushed into the line - but not into the body - which sits there and keeps the line clean. So they have adopted this for my new line too, in case it happens again. It's important to remove it before using the line so I need to remind everyone, much to their bemusement; better to overstate the case than have a dose of it though.
How am I in myself?
A good question and one which made me smirk a little, being a line from the now abandoned A Month of Sundays play I was to be in in a couple of weeks time at Cheriton.
"How are you in yourself, Dad?" my stage daughter asks. "In myself?" I reply quizzically. "Well, in general terms" she clarifies. "Oh, in general terms. In general terms, much the same, mustn't grumble". It's a lovely little sarcastic sequence which taken out of context doesn't mean quite so much but made me chuckle when asked it for real.
What was meant by this was how am I coping mentally, which is a fair question. The answer is I'm just getting on with it in the only way I know. The fact that this treatment has a huge success rate automatically gives me a target and makes my mental state much more buoyant; if I thought I was going through the grinder for a <50% chance of success I might be thinking very differently indeed.
The other interesting question was "What's your main concern?". "Survival" was my instant retort. "Of the treatment or the cancer?" she asked. "Both" I replied. After the briefest of pauses: "Well if you survive the treatment you'll certainly survive the cancer". I'm not entirely sure whether to be reassured by that or extremely concerned! I know there are some people - not many - who have died from the treatment, or rather third party factors like infections, but they are thankfully rare. I trust in (God/someone) that on this occasion I am not one more rare case. And so we move on because to dwell on it would be pointless.
Some asides
2. I have been quite thirsty the past couple of days, having spent a couple of weeks sipping. Downed two cans of ginger beer, a latté, a hot chocolate, several glasses of lime and sparkling water and more coffee. Odd.
3. Because both my upper arms are incapacitated (left with infection, right with PICC line), they have been finding new and innovative ways of taking my blood pressure. It is possible to take it on the lower leg for example, if they can find a pulse. Not entirely successful - one reading came out as 210/120 which in anyone's book is a tad high. The most successful is to take it on the lower right arm with a manual monitor with a squeezy thing and a stethoscope. One staff nurse commented that in ten years she has never ever had to take a BP like this. I find this difficult to believe, considering we only have two arms.An overseas visitor
Vikki, my niece who lives in Holland, jumped on a plane at Schipol (Amsterdam) early yesterday, waited on the plane for an hour for the October fog to lift, an finally made it to Southampton where Sally picked her up and brought her over. Lovely to see her, not having done so since her husband's sad demise. All in ll a brave thing for her to come onto an oncology ward at all. We all escaped to the café and enjoyed lattés, clokes, crisps, rolls and hot chocolate - and a lot of good humour and catch-up. Sue, her mum/my big sister, popped in later (complete with an old photo album of when we were small kids in Alresford) and she picked up Vikki from Southampton for a curry and rare night of her company sans enfants. |
| The Cradduck family circa 1954 - Steph, me, Mum, Dad, Sue |
Good news arrives
Just when I thought the best I could hope for this weekend would be the odd few hours at home during the day, Marie-Christine, one of the docs, explained that they are changing my antibiotic from a three-times-a-day/1.5hr drip to a similar one which only requires one half-hour drip every day (thinks: could they not have given me this one to start with?). That means I can go home tomorrow (Friday) after my antibiotic and intrathecal - yes, that lovely needle in the spine procedure - and providing I come back in at 10am on Saturday and Sunday for my antibiotic they don't want to see me until Sunday night.
I know I am in the right place receiving the right treatment but during this 'recovery' phase it's hugely important to me to have some time at home; it surely has to be part of the treatment in a subtle way and bound to make me feel better 'in myself' - the thought of Rosie bouncing on me, of my own comfy bed, a proper meal or two, a walk in the fields - what a fantastic thing to look forward to. I know it's the calm before the storm and I shall get that 'exeat' feeling again on Sunday night but it's worth all that and more.
And finally, more good news!
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