Cancer 81

OK, overall that was a bad week. I felt for the first time that perhaps I was on my decline and I didn’t like it. I am not ready for it, but I am trying to be honest with this blog so you get the bad with the good. Fortunately, I am back to feeling well and positive, though I went through an added blip yesterday when I went to the hospital for my chemo.

I arrived at the hospital early, to ensure I could find a parking space. I always park in the University of Nottingham site but even that can fill up. I went to Aldi to buy food as the hospital food for day patients lives up to its reputation. Back in the hospital, I ran into nurse Ratchett, one of my nurses. She took one look at me and asked why I was in the hospital. I looked very ill and I wouldn’t get my treatment (it can be worrying to be told you look very ill by a nurse – they tend to know what they are doing). I should point out that when I go from a relatively cold place to a relatively warm place, and I am wearing too many clothes, a jumper in this case, I sweat profusely. I have been known to literally steam from the top of my head, though I didn’t on this occasion.

There is a unit within the oncology department that I am supposed to phone if I am ill or having any abnormal symptoms – at any time, day or night. Nurse Ratchett told me I should have phoned them as I had a severe rash all over my head and I was sweating. I told her that I was fine and that phoning the unit was for ill people, not me. She was a little exasperated and told me I should report as usual but that I wouldn’t get treatment and that I would be bedblocking (chair blocking actually) for the day.

I wasn’t happy but I did as I was told, as I always do when a nurse shouts at me.

On arrival, I went into the bay where I got shouted at again as Nurse Ratchett had told everybody what she had seen. The disadvantage at this stage of treatment (round 9) is that many of the nurses know me. I should perhaps be quiet and unobtrusive instead of loud. Fortunately, this nurse, let’s call her Nurse King, likes me because I talked to her about writing and she is enthusiastically starting the process of looking at writing courses and structuring a book. I have achieved something in my time on the ward. I sat in my chair and waited to see what would happen.

A specialist nurse came and assessed me, looking at my rash, which fortunately is only at the top end of my body and has penetrated no orifices. She asked me lots of questions about other symptoms. I confidently, if not entirely accurately, said no to everything except tiredness. My obs were fine. She left to confer with my consultant, after which I learned that I would get treatment, so I pulled an appropriate face at Nurse Ratchett and received my treatment. The day went as usual, though delayed so I didn’t escape until 5pm.

I was given an antibiotic for my rash, which I have to take for two weeks, and also some moisturising cream (ahem) so I am setting another record for the number of drugs I take. The rash is possibly an allergic reaction to another new drug I started last time. I don’t think anybody really knows, as there are so many drugs that inevitably interact with each other in possibly unpredictable ways. Still, an antibiotic can’t do any harm, can it?

I am currently attached to my bottle of fluorouracil, 5000mg to enter my body over 46 hours. It means I don’t go to bed, and I sleep very little, but at least I got my treatment. Fight hard folks, claim wellness, and wellness will be thrust upon you.

Today we drove to Lichfield, perhaps my favourite UK city (because it is small, has several bookshops, and both an Erasmus Darwin and a Samuel Johnson museum), and ate well. Friday we head to Pembrokeshire. It has a coastline, but I can’t have everything.

By the way, I should say that I have a good sparring relationship with Nurse Ratchett, and the name – shockingly not her real name – was applied to her by me in her presence and is used in the general banter that is virtually continuous during the day between nurses and patients. I have said before that the nurses are incredibly positive people. I don’t know how they do it day after day in such a place of sadness and despair, but they keep most of us cheerful while we are undergoing what can only be described as unpleasant procedures. If the Tory Government wanted to do one good thing in the time they have left (not much I hope), then improve the pay and conditions of the nurses. They are the ones who see the patients continually and keep the whole edifice of the NHS functioning at that critical junction between patient and treatment. Consultants make the key decisions, but nurses do the implementation, and they do it in a very human and reassuring manner.