Hospital eases bureaucratic stress

All-round advisor

Another day at the hospital planned just last week and besides that planned for tomorrow to see the foot and rehabilitation specialist.

Last Friday, I decided to avail myself of the hospital social services having seen my quest for welfare support derailed by ping-pong bureaucracy.

The appointment was an early on set for 9:00 AM, I do not think I slept that much overnight but I got all the files and papers filled in last month together and that seems to have been all I needed.

I vacillated about taking my laptop with me and eventually left it at home thinking the problem will be taken out of my hands and sorted somehow, I was determined I would not be further burdened by the stress of navigating the system.

When I met my advisor, she first wanted to know about my health, my strength, my mind and my expectations – well, I feel good, though my right foot does flake a bit and offers me a good itch due to fungal infections and blisters that might well be dealt with soon.

She obtained an alternative prescription cream for help deal with the itch as we talked about other matters of post-chemotherapy conditioning for the return to work and so on.

Not so easy, it was not

Then we moved to the matter for which I was visiting, my application for benefits that had been stuck in the system – we drew a timeline of time of unemployment, when I first fell ill, the progression of illness to the diagnosis of cancer, the treatments and the post-chemotherapy issues.

It appeared my business was not particularly a walk in the park; she left to explain the situation to a psychologist who also happens to be the resident expert on these bureaucracies and persuaded her to review my papers.

The times and records became the more important issue apart from the fact that my not realising my health was deteriorating meant I did not seek medical help promptly nor resort to welfare funds, I needed a narrative.

The expert called all the offices to find out the best kind of approach to deal with my situation and fortunately she linked up with someone who had a good idea of what to do, albeit the suggestion was offered as a very long shot.

My new application

My last contract, bank details, identification papers, records of last payments and a reasonably lengthy litany of the how I found myself in the situation I was in and the why it took so long to register the situation was needed to make my case to the bureaucracies.

Fortunately, I had all that information and the services of the hospital internet service computers to craft my supporting letter which the expert reviewed, amended, notarised and packaged for delivery on the hospital’s livery along with all the photocopies of requested material.

Just over 4 hours at the hospital and I could maybe breathe a sigh of some relief and hope for a very favourable response to my application in the not too distant future – even tomorrow already seems too late, that is how much I need this matter resolved now.

Where has my taste gone?

Where is my taste?

Encoded in my memory somewhere is the remembrance of tastes of things I have enjoyed eating giving the pleasure you get from good food.

To be honest, something has happened to my taste, things do not taste like I once knew they did, it makes me wonder if I would ever get that taste back again.

One month after my last chemotherapy treatment I went over the notes the hospital gave me about undergoing the therapy and what I should expect – it would appear after 5 months of therapy I probably need just about 5 months for my body to fully recover and with that, I hope the other cognitive things that have confusing indicators.

Not like I knew then

Before I went to hospital, I used to have natural Greek yoghurt and honey, nowadays, I cannot seem to stand the taste of honey and that of yoghurt is just so strange as to be unpalatable.

Fish tastes funny and certain high-protein meals have become completely off meals, in their place, I have taken to beef casseroles and Nigerian dishes like yam porridge called asaro in Yoruba.

The other day, I bought some spiced chicken, either roasted or fried, the taste just does not go down well with me considering I used to gulp that down and that took me to my highest weight of 83kg well over a year ago.

Lemons and limes

Drinks too have suffered, in hospital long before chemotherapy I went off the high-energy drinks, whilst I seem to handle milk quite well, all other milk based drinks taste horrible.

I also found that most of the tropical mix drinks that contain mangoes, oranges, guava and so on are a complete put off, I take to lemon and lime based drinks, however, I have also found strawberry and raspberry based drinks are quite tasty.

Needing some normalcy

With the reintroduced of pain management though on half dosage, the salivation is considerably reduced and the stomach ache is a lot less frequent, my sleep is getting regulated though I have not exerted myself enough to discover how much strength I have to expend.

In general, I have to control my anxiety which gets agitated by letters, bills, emails and threats, I can only do what I am able to do, though the welfare service is comfortably dragging their feet without a care in the world.

I need to get busy, busy with productive work doing something useful and rewarding – where is that sterling opportunity?

After February is recovery

February

February 2010 represented an amazing month in my life, one that would not soon be forgotten and one that represented a whole range of issues, changes, decisions and events.

Most particularly, it was the month in which I lost a very dear friend and that in which my regime of treatment for cancer stopped for other elements of my health improvement to gain a footing.

Monday should have been the day for the scheduled 8th chemotherapy session but my medical team decided to stop at the 7th giving me very needed respite from a treatment that literally knocks me out for a week.

The strength I thought I had

So, I went into town and walked up a few streets before ending up at the steak restaurant I last visited with my friend some 8 months ago.

Whilst mentally, I am so excited to be off the treatment, I seem to have forgotten that chemotherapy really did take a lot out of me that I really do not have the strength I think I have and I was tiring quite easily after short walks – my sleep patterns need some regulation for someone preparing for work.

One thing that has not relented through it all is the bills, they come as new and they come as threats, they all however just have to wait till there is income to settle them and as usual it is the ones I owe the least that are the most aggressive.

The search for work

Sometimes, I wonder how one can maintain a mental state for genuine recuperation if one is continually buffeted by matters that can be the source of much worry and consequent stress – definitely not what you or I need.

The networks are being tapped, the résumé is going places and enquiries are being made just as one engages in studies of trends in the marketplace, the need to be productive and relevant is here and now.

The process of recuperation would just have to merge with the time of resuming work, not too many luxuries can be afforded but help and support is still very welcome and I am thankful for all the support I have received to date.

February 2010, all your 28 full days, I remember, but thanks for the advent for March and the march to great expectations and a wonderful life – welcome.

The chemotherapy is over

Arguing for the last

For all intents and purposes, I was resolute to have today be the last meeting with the oncologist with respect to my planned eighth chemotherapy treatment.

As I had stated before in my blog last week after meeting with my treatment consultant the fact that more chemotherapy had been scheduled beyond the 1st of March was not something I was ready to contemplate or prepared for in any way.

It was supposed to be all change from the 8th of March, signifying my freedom from chemotherapy and my readiness in however small a way or possibly better to seek employment and begin to rebuild my life.

The case made

Thankfully, my treatment consultant met with both the oncologist and the head of the oncology department about his concerns that the improvement of my immune system was being impeding by the chemotherapy and his view that chemotherapy should stop soon enough to begin to see improvements in my immunity.

The oncologists concurred and at my appointment today which was to presage the last agreed treatments they agreed that by the 4th chemotherapy I had already had magnificent response and healing and the other 3 after had simply bolstered that improvement.

The points accepted

So, they were satisfied that after 7 chemotherapy treatments there was now no need for the 8th which had been scheduled for the 1st of March and it was better to give my immune system the chance to recover so as to prevent my succumbing to opportunistic infections.

Before this, I had wondered if I could go on chemotherapy with a cold that was accompanied with violent sneezing and the occasional cough, there was some uncertainty and trepidation but this was such unexpected news.

All the blood test results had returned and everything seemed to be fine apart from the indicators for immunity which were just too low, the next meeting with my treatment consultant in May after new blood tests in early May should hopefully show the necessary improvements allowing for some changes to the drug regime I am still under.

Moisturising the pain

The oncologist was also of the view that I could further reduce my pain management medication and be weaned off it over the next week or so.

The special moisturising cream was prescribed and I was offered words of encouragement as he commended my bravery through the treatment and all the other issues that entailed.

He appreciated that for 5 months my life had revolved around a 21-day cycle of treatment, incapacity, recovery, expectation, analysis and back to treatment again without the opportunity to breakout especially to the challenging issues of seeking work in the light of mounting bills and threats.

Other things for worry

The newest threat today was the least of my concerns, as a traveller I had an iris identification card which should have been renewed since October that I ignored because I was in no fit state to travel talk less of having the means to travel, now the debt collectors are on my tail for the subscription – honestly, that is really the least of my problems.

Unfortunately, the ones I owe the least are the ones pursuing me the most, all those bills will all eventually be paid with the damage that has ensued to my credit rating by reason of incapacity and illness – someone somewhere is making good money out of misfortune, that is the way of the money system we live in.

Thank you, all

The good news in all this quagmire of realities and expected changes for good and better is that there is no more chemotherapy to take, not even a maintenance one.

For that, I am grateful to God, to all the experts and nurses who have cared for me, my loving neighbours, my friends from all the different spheres of life who have all supported me with means, goods, services, encouragement, concern and love – all of whom I just cannot thank enough, but still, I say thank you.

To my creditors who have been so reasonable too, reducing the stress that could impede my recovery, thank you too.

I saw the priest, that is another blog.

The blood in the tales

Hospital days

Hospital appointment days are mainly just like fully given to the hospital, worse still if the appointment is in the afternoon, you probably can do nothing the whole morning waiting for it and once over you are too exhausted to do much with the rest of the closing day.

Today, I met with the main consultant and superintendent of my treatment programme, he is one of the head honchos in Internal Medicine as well as an academic professor in medicine, I read he was working on monoclonal antibodies for his PhD in the 80s – I knew enough about that research to be impressed.

The correct numbers

This was my second meeting with the consultant after I was discharged from hospital but before I met him there was the basic routine of checking my weight which by reason of my shoes and clothes was boosted by 2 kilograms to just over 70 kilograms, my blood pressure and pulse read within the limits of very normal.

I have decided to put no faith in this portable wrist blood pressure meter toys, I had one before I fell ill and it always gave readings that I was hypertensive, it got to a point that I was beginning to believe those readings until the readings at hospital told a more accurate story of normalcy.

The dangers of trying to handle ones medical needs by self-medication and the use of portable customer gadgets in my case was only so evident – some things are best left to the professionals and their well calibrated and accurate machines operated in a supervised setting.

Soon after the measurements were done, I saw the nursing expert who handles the social and emotional consequences of a diagnosis of serious illness and what needs to be done, I remembered her from when I was on admission, before I was discharged she went off on a 5-week holiday to Nepal, she asked to see me after I had met the consultant.

Looking good reading good

The consultant came to get me and was quite impressed to see how I walked and commented on the considerable improvement he had noticed, I agreed that a lot had happened, the lesions had all disappeared by December and though there is still some skin shedding everything feels fine, he later examined my feet.

He felt my treatment was going really well, from all the results that had been presented in the blood tests, I was responding very positively to all my treatments including the chemotherapy.

Significantly, he noted that not all the results he needed from my blood tests had arrived, those tests could take up to 2 weeks to be fully completed and results presented, he was quite curious about what they would reveal.

The other effects of chemotherapy

He said the haemoglobin, cholesterol, liver function results all looked fine but for the fact that my immune system still looked suppressed, the numbers were not encouraging but the percentages had gone up by 50% percent.

This lead to his wanting to curtail the chemotherapy sessions because whilst the evident cancer had disappeared it also had the effect of impacting on the immune system leaving one possible vulnerable to infection.

It was then that I learnt that additional chemotherapy sessions had been scheduled, that was something of a blow to me, for 2 months I believed that I will only have 8 chemotherapy treatments which would end on the 1st of March, it was the basis on which I had made may arrangements including trying to get back to work.

I deserve to know all

I just could not bare the thought of sitting through even one more session after the 8th chemotherapy therapy regardless of how well I was responding to the treatment, I needed a Ground 0 from where I could begin to get on with rebuilding my life – my consultant fully appreciated a prospective employee could not have chemotherapy sessions waiting in the background at an interview.

My consultant for medical reasons as the overseer of my treatment was now more interested in reading better results from by blood with regards to a vastly improved immune system, he would chat to the oncologist about it.

The next meeting with the oncologist is next Thursday, I also intend to make it clear that I am do not intend to continue on interminable chemotherapy treatments that do not have a clear idea of when it would be concluded – for crying out loud – I am entitled to know how much I have to endure without being tortured by trickle-down information.

It will be 8 and no more than that, I am NOT emotionally prepared and I do not intend to prepare myself for any more than that.

Maintaining the status quo

The readings from the blood tests also indicated we would not change any of the medication I am on till when we meet in another three months, meanwhile, when the other blood results arrive, I will get a call depending on what it all means.

So, another box full of prescriptions are going to delivered soon, this also provided the opportunity to talk about the eye irritation I was having for which I received a gel and the sudden attacks of acute claustrophobia I had about a month ago – the panic attacks as he called them might be related to pain management but if they returned I was advised to seek medical help.

Pain management was left to me, I could decide to halve the medication and consider the effects whilst I try to wean myself off the pain medication – we would just have to see how that pans out.

With all that done, we scheduled new appointments, completed the prescriptions, shook hands and said goodbye.

Miscellaneous matters

The nursing assistant was busy, so I had to wait for a while, it was then I learnt that I could find a full range of support services through the hospital if required, something I never knew before.

We talked about her trip to Nepal where she did a lot of hiking and mountaineering, touching on the subject that Westerners seem to have seriously organised working lives that they chose to go on busy chaotic holidays as a form of relaxation – an interesting perspective I’ll say.

After that, I called in on the priest, we did not have much time to chat, but I gave him the basics, I have a proper appointment booked to see him when I return to see the oncologist next week.

Whilst I was quite happy with the general results, I was taken aback by the issue of the still suppressed immune system and the additionally planned chemotherapy treatments – I expected a lot from today, I am grateful for what I already have and thankful for how far we have come – hospital visits end up as long tales and the detail is almost always in the blood.

Almost in vain for a vein

Making it to the hospital

I made it to hospital with just 5 minutes to spare, I had checked the public transport route guide to determine how best to get to the hospital in the East of Amsterdam from Saint Barbara Cemetery in the West – interestingly my ideas were quite different from their suggestions which appeared to be better.

As I entered the chemotherapy ward the nurses wondered why I was dressed up to the nines with bowler hat and all. I told them I had just returned from a friend’s funeral, they commiserated and I volunteered that they might even know Dick.

One of the nurses who I did not think I had met before had in fact attended me when I had my very first chemotherapy in my hospital bed on the 5th of October 2009, she said I look so greatly improved and well compared to then – well, you can say that again nurse – I am thankful and grateful to God, my doctors, the nurses, my friends and well-wishers to the way things are today.

More about Dick

They did and they were quite shocked at his death, the main consultant also was shocked and surprised, none could clearly say that his death was impending anyway and one nurse said they still had the newspaper article on Dick which was published on the day he defended his thesis.

For all his affable and amazing life we should not forget that Dick was an intellectual, an academic and was at one time the Chief Librarian of the Netherlands Institute of War Documentation, he was well published and respected in that field, the nurses wondered if I was a historian, well I am not – Dick met with people from all walks of life.

Cold and hiding veins

I settled in one of the reclining seat and made ready to get my chemotherapy infusion but they could not get a vein however hard they tried, in my left hand I had the first prick and the access was not good enough so it had to be taken out.

The nurse suggested I wash my hands in warm water for a while to help the veins show up, I knew it was dreadfully cold outside but I did not know it was 6 under zero – that is cold, I sometime wear another pair leather gloves over my normal gloves.

The nurse made another attempt on my left hand and still was unable to get a useful vein, the cold makes veins contract and even though my hands had been warmed up there the vein appeared but could not take the full length of the needle so she removed it and asked the other nurse to try it out.

Another hand another try

A few minutes later, I offered my right hand, one good vein was moving around and there was a lot of tapping before a vein near the thumb phalanges was found, after insertion, she was not sure it was right, I then injected with saline solution to check if it was through, it appeared to work.

She said the glucose solution that goes in with the chemotherapy treatment would have been painful if she tried to determine whether she was through to a vein. However, she was only fully satisfied after she connected the glucose solution and lowered the bad to see if gravity would make some blood flow out.

The chemotherapy Caelyx solution was then connected and set for an hour of infusion but with that feeling of being unsure she said I should try not to move my hand just in case the flow was disturbed – I reclined my seat and fell asleep through the period of the infusion.

When the infusion kit was removed, I asked if I could still submit blood for tests in readiness for the meeting with my consultant in 9 days, I could not do those tests on Friday because they were a special set of tests. I was informed the blood could have been taken through the infusion system, well, now I know.

Four pricks in a day

I left the chemotherapy ward for the blood clinic where I warned that precautions be taken because I had just receive chemotherapy, the bloods were taken in 4 vials and that was it. A whole 4 needle pricks in one afternoon, sometimes I feel I am going to be irrationally truculent a scared of the needles and then try to think nicely about it to help things happen – I surprise myself.

I tried to see the priest but he was out today and I made my way home.

That was the end of my 7th chemotherapy session, I now only have one left. Thank God.

All cares with chemo number 7

Getting out to hospital

It was another hospital day today, a Friday morning appointment that almost had me rushing out of the house and then wondering if I had picked up my hospital card as I saw the tram I am planning to board park at the tram stop just before mine.

I once told my cousin, if you could see the tram moving you have probably missed it, thankfully it was held up, I just about made it and I got to my appointment with a couple of minutes to spare.

As I got to the oncology counter, the young doctor who has seen me 4 times out of the last 5 visits was chatting to the receptionist and he appeared to have a sidekick, he recognised me and said once I was booked in he will be out to get me.

All feelings expressed

In five minutes, he returned to get me and introduced me to the intern, his sidekick, a young lady probably training to be an oncologist. The office had that interesting hierarchical feel I once talked about. The doctor in a swivel chair with arms and a high back rest, the intern on a stool, a type of alertness therapy, I suppose.

We launched into how I was feeling and how I felt after my 6th chemotherapy session, physically, I felt fine, emotionally, well I talked to them about Dick who would have been a patient in their department, they commiserated expressing condolences and we moved on to the topic of the day.

The anti-emetic medicine worked a treat, I told them, I did not once feel any nausea and I hope I could have that drug again. He willingly obliged, the drug is quite new, quite expensive and the prescription is engraved in a rubber stamp – making it easy for the doctor to prescribe without error and with great simplicity – that is marketing for you.

Numbering the footwork

They then had a look at my feet commenting about me wearing winter socks that come up above the knees, well, they were football socks, one does not approach winter carelessly, this winter has been exceptionally cold.

After all the prescriptions were given I tried to combine all my blood tests into the express access to the blood clinic but I was told one of the tests could only be done on either Mondays or Tuesday – crumbs!

I now have 4 more appointments at hospital, the 7th chemotherapy session on Monday, seeing my main consultant the next week on the Wednesday, my last oncologist appointment in three weeks and the 8th chemotherapy session in 4 Mondays.

At the chaplain’s

As usual, on oncology days I call on the hospital chaplain, the Roman Catholic priest who has been so supportive and helpful in his ministry to me. My face was like an open book; he looked at me and surmised I had been through a lot. I bared my soul to him about all the events of the last three weeks as things unravelled and took shape in meetings, conversations, negotiations, commitments and the loss of a friend.

Even more, we talked about my concerns, my deep conflicts and much more, he listened, comforted, advised and encouraged, he was such a blessing, I probably spent an hour with him before he had to attend another appointment.

He assured me that there was much to talk about, the issues covered could not be fully managed in one session of talks, it would appear I would maintain contact with this priest long after I have exhausted my appointments at the hospital – I learnt a great deal, there is much more to learn and understand as one tries to get one’s life back on an even keel.

Teaching a drowning man to swim

It could not be a water baptism but an analogy exists somewhere where he must have fallen into dark murky waters, having not learnt to swim he was drowning and flailing around for help, some froze with fear, others tried to lend a hand and get him out, surely, this is not the time to give swimming instructions – a drowning man is not at the point of learning how to float.

What great practicality comes from pulling the man out of the water first, ensuring he is fine with resuscitation techniques and any other means that ensures he will be well. When he is up to strength, the first lesson learnt is not to fall into murky waters again the further lesson to be taken is probably taking swimming classes.

I do appreciate the ministry of ministers, priests and chaplains, as I unburdened myself, I found succour and comfort, the therapy of talking really does go a long way to helping you resolve many dark areas of life and living.

Monday will be an interesting day.

A prick in the metacarpals

The preparations

Getting up this Monday was done with one thing in mind, I was having my 6th chemotherapy dosage at 14:00 hours and everything had to be in place for that appointment.

I did some light shopping getting some milk for my tea and biscuits for my date and at about 13:15 hours, I took my first pill, this was prescribed to deal with the kind of chronic nausea I had experienced after my 5th dosage and that are probably the most expensive pills I have every ingested, the main pill which has 125mg of the active ingredient goes for EUR 32 and the other 2 pills of 80mg strength to be ingested each consequent day is about EUR 19.50.

Thank God, I am not American in America, insurance and the shouldering of burdens by our social welfare system has meant I have not expired and died but have hope and expectations of a better life ahead.

The boy without his people

I arrived at the out-patients ward about 5 minutes early, I barely recognised one of the nurses and one of the patients I had seen a couple of times who was probably on the same 3-week chemotherapy cycle as I am.

There was only one seat available, so I put up my coat and settled in for my first cup of tea, one of the patients was a teenager probably in his early teens, he did not seem to have been accompanied, from what I saw on the drip stand, I suspect he was having a blood transfusion.

He definitely had his wits about him, asking for his next appointment times and conversing quite well with the nurses – I would have expected either his parents or some older relation to be there with him, I suppose they were all confident he could handle things well, though I must say, when I did have my friend with me on my 3rd chemotherapy session it offered a sense of belonging and comfort.

A prick in the metacarpals

When I shook the nurse’s hand she thought my hands were a bit cold and she suggested I wash my hands and wrist with some warm water to help the veins show to allow for an easy insertion of the drip needle.

I still suffer from left-hand, right-hand confusion, if I were asked a direct question about veering in any direction to either the left or right, I would probably hesitate and might even get it wrong – I need to contemplate long before to get it right the first time.

So, I offered the nurse my hand and she inserted the needle in a vein at the back of my hand halfway up the metacarpals of the phalanges of the 2nd and 3rd finger, it was the lowest I had ever had an insertion, usually it is closer to the wrist just around the carpals, I was a bit surprised by that but said nothing.

It was when I was pouring my next cup of tea after the Caelyx solution had been attached to the infusion system that I realised I did not have as much dexterity with the free hand; it then dawned on me that I had offered my right hand rather than the left – then to imagine I made such a fuss about rearranging the furniture all for my right hand to get used instead.

Accelerated infusion

I noticed the infusion started at 14:15 hours and it usually last an hour, I read through a number of Economist articles and then reclined the seat for a nap, at 15:00 hours the infusion system started beeping, the Caelyx solution was fully infused in 45 minutes which is the minimum allowed time, as I learnt on the day of my 1st chemotherapy.

It was the first time I had been given the faster infusion rate, I felt fine after that and once the Caelyx solution had been completely drained through the system, something you note by visual observation because the solution is red whilst the saline solution is clear, the needle was removed and a prepared to return home.

The closing chats

On chatting to the nurse after securing my next few appointments, she said the usually average of chemotherapy sessions is 6, it sometimes goes up to 8 and they have had regimes of 14 dosages – FOURTEEN!!! One might tolerate it so well, but that many is as good as being on chemotherapy for 10 months – I just have 2 more sessions to go.

There are 7 seats in the out-patients ward, 4 had left, 2 had short sessions during the time I was there and the last two seat reclined in the seats were there before me, the one I recognise and the other recognised me from sessions before, I apologised allowing the talk about my left/right dichotomy to suffice for forgetfulness.

Getting back home was not that eventful, I returned, made a meal, wrote this blog and I might well catch a nap. I hope to be hearty and strong after this sixth session – the careful management of all bodily fluids including sweat in relation to possible guests is on for 6 days now, that period of cytostatic ostracism again.

Presaging my 6th chemo

The Fridays before the Monday

I was up so late I almost thought I would be too out to make my appointment this morning for 9:15AM. I had set the alarm for 7:55AM and after 4 snooze sessions I got out of bed and got ready.

Every three weeks, usually on a Friday, I go to see the oncologist who monitors my progress with the chemotherapy and how my blood is coping with the onslaught, though the previous meeting was Thursday all because the Friday was Christmas Day.

Much talk and much progress

This time, I arrived at the hospital with just 3 minutes to spare and before I settled down after registering my presence the young doctor was out to call me into his surgery.

He was quite impressed with my progress though I did let him know a number of issues I had since my last chemotherapy. I had been more sick than I had ever been and I had to find a way of managing the emesis through the drugs I already had.

After looking at my feet, I had been experiencing a bit of pain in my left sole, I have learnt visiting the doctor must be the opportunity to reveal that is tell him everything, they also need that information to fine tune whatever regimen you are on.

Other important business

I also took the opportunity to renew my prescriptions for the anti-emetics which now have new instructions along with an additional anti-emetic to be taken on the day of chemotherapy and the succeeding two days, the pain patches and foot cream all got updates too.

My new appointments were set and then I had to give blood for further analysis, there was a big queue at the blood testing clinic but I get the express badge which is an exclamation mark in a yellow triangle and your queue-jump to the very next person to be seen.

Let us pray

As has become my ritual, I called on the catholic priest with whom I had a long discussion on what I have been going through and how I have been responding to treatment, he then prayed for me and by the time I looked up at the hospital clock, it wasn’t even 10:30AM yet.

I’ll be back in hospital on Monday in the afternoon for my sixth session of chemotherapy; meanwhile, I probably have an eventful weekend ahead.

No Gloria in Emesis

Warning: To be read only by those with a strong disposition, it is full of talk of emesis, sickliness, vomit and puking.

Tired out completely

It was a hard slug getting home on Monday evening; I think I had tired myself out after chemotherapy, the long walks and the visit to the library.

A few chills had set in as I trundled to the tram stop just in time to catch the tram going home. I was homing for bed and not long after a snack, I was under the duvet and ready for sleep.

I was out for just over 2 hours and got up for my elevenses, well, I take my pills twice a day, though only one set has to be taken every 12 hours, there are 5 sets of pills, the other 4 are taken daily and I have split them into the morning set and the night set.

This regime is easier than when I first left hospital with pills to take 6 times, 4, times, 3 times, 2 times and once a day – it called on all your powers of organisation to sort out.

Then there is the emetic suppository to be taken as needed, an anti-constipation powder to be mixed in water and taken for the Fentanyl pain patch that gets changed every 72 hours.

Puking all the time

This was the first time that my chemotherapy session and pain patch change coincided and this probably lead to the sickly feeling I had throughout Tuesday.

Just before my first elevenses, I was feeling quite nauseous so I went over the toilet bowl and threw up violently but nothing of substance came through, the feeling continued all day, I could hardly eat and really could ingest no medicines in that condition – I took the anti-emetic suppository hoping it would alleviate the situation but it seemed like a long shot, I was on the verge of calling the hospital.

During one of the 5 times that I was sick, I was in the middle of a telephone conversation literally answering back between each puking session, it was an absolutely rotten feeling.

Neighbours bring strength

I settled back in bed and more or less spent the day lain down and hoping for some improvement – afterwards, I found that my neighbours had returned from holiday, we had a chat and as usual they were there to help and the first thing I could keep down was some bouillon they made for me.

I gained a little strength to do some shopping, had some fruit and when it came to my nightly elevenses, I took the anti-emetic medication which also comes in tablet form along with my main medicine and the suppository.

What a day, glad it is over, thanking God for His mercies and looking forward to another day – it is white outside – it has been snowing again after the complete clear-up on Monday.

Pleading the 5th chemotherapy

Goodbyes without tears

I went for my fifth chemotherapy session this afternoon; it was a bit emotional because my guest, a friend of over 25 years who had visited to spend Christmas with me was also leaving.

His flight arrangements were such that he could not accompany me to hospital as he had done on Christmas Eve, we had to part ways to the tram stop and go in different directions.

I would dearly miss the company as I return home this evening from the library, but my heart is full of thanks for the visit, the company, the gifts and much more.

My tea time, again

Since the bus routes have changed, getting to the hospital is no more as easy as it once was, my walk was a bit brisk and slightly halting but I got to the oncology/chemotherapy room, just in time after getting some chocolates to share with the staff and visitors.

There was just one available place for me to settle into, so put my coat in the cupboard and settled down to my cup of tea – I always prepare my Smoky Earl Grey tea in a flask to take when on chemotherapy.

Two of the faces were familiar from earlier sessions but I had never met the others, the man to my left was being infused with different parcels of fluids, the red ones, I later found out to be blood.

Aging with laughter

Anytime a patient is to receive an infusion, the nurse cross-checks the date of birth with what is on the parcel, our man was 87, quite active, quite spritely and with a quick wit.

It was not long before one of the nurses named Nicolette ended up in joke with Nicorette, the anti-smoking patch, that drew laughter even from me who generally cannot follow Dutch jokes.

This time, I took my infusion through my right wrist; I could later pour tea with my left hand but could never get to unscrew the top of the milk bottle, I had to call the nurse for help.

We had some banter about Christmas and how she spent it, but earlier she expressed delight in seeing I was without crutches, walking almost completely normally and without me special shoes.

Now for sleep

Most of the patients had left before my session was over and when the young man of 87 was leaving, he said goodbye and as I tried to reply, the nurse said I was English and in almost perfect English, he bid me farewell and hoped we would meet again.

Within 75 minutes, it was all over, I tried to catch a nap to no avail, instead of going straight home, I took the tram to the library having walked through the park in front of the hospital seeing a national monument to slavery that I had never before properly observed.

My next visit is in 3 Fridays to see the oncologist and the sixth chemotherapy session is slated for 18th of January, nothing that eventful happened and really now, I just want to get some sleep.

The tolerance of chemo means more

New routes to hospital

Christmas Eve saw another visit to the hospital to see the oncologist, usually, I see the oncologist the Friday before the Monday when I go for my chemotherapy sessions.

The bus timetables changed over a week ago and with it the bus routes also changed such that the easy one-changeover trip to the hospital was no more an option.

Now, I had to take the tram and then a 5 minute walk to the hospital, since I no more use crutches, it was not that difficult a trip to make.

My friend of 25 years had arrived the day before to spend Christmas with me and offered to accompany me to the hospital, having company at hospital is always good.

We arrived for my 14:45 appointment some 20 minutes early and eventually got called in by the junior doctor I saw 3 weeks ago.

Not now let off

I thought I would get the promise of being let off chemotherapy, he was quite impressed with the improvement on my feet, all good young but thin skin, looking healed but he wanted a second opinion from the consultant oncologist.

He came in and he also expressed his happiness with the improvements which he attributed to my responding well to the chemotherapy, he then asked how well I tolerated the chemotherapy.

I honestly told him I just felt more tired and sleepy but suffered no other side effects, with that he suggested that I have up to 8 chemotherapy sessions.

Whilst I was quite disappointed the logic was that if one tolerates chemotherapy that well then more should be given rather than less because it makes the treatment presumably more complete. If however, I was hardly tolerating the stuff then there would have been a case for discontinuance.

Meeting the priest

Then I was put in the emergency queue for blood tests which basically had me going through as I submitted my forms to the blood clinic.

After that we went to see the catholic priest who I make a point of visiting on the oncology appointment days but never on the chemotherapy days, he was about, that was good because I had a card and present for him.

We had a lovely talk and then he offered to pray for us all, his prayers were quite deep and very meaningfully aligned with the Scriptures, in fact, my friend and I were quite taken by it all, considering Pentecostals seem to think they have a handle on prayers – one has to give some credit to Catholicism, and I have, the more, since I met this young priest.

Shopping for Christmas

On leaving the hospital, we shopped at a Ghanaian shop for condiments, food and ingredients for Christmas, got some meat from a Halal shop and eventually returned home.

I later went for the Christmas service, which was a bit too funky for my liking, clapping to Christmas carols with guitars and drums in the background are just what my kind of traditional Christmas is about, I suppose, I would be looking for something more sedate next year.

What a day it was.