Thursday, 19 September 2013
So yesterday was not good.
George and Jayne brought the lovely Hugo (Sophie's husband) round for an early supper on Tuesday night. They also brought supper, which included 2 puddings. When HWISO married me, he didn't marry me for my pudding making abilities. I have none. Consequently, all my lovely friends who like making puddings and are good at them, generously arrive with a choice of them, especially for him. He responds very well to this kind of spoiling by always eating at least one helping of each pudding. Jayne left him a "doggy bag" of pavlova (his fav) and apple and currant sponge (delicious), which had obviously been attacked with enthusiasm when I got back from the hospital at 4.30 yesterday afternoon.
From about midnight onwards, my sleep was very much interrupted by the feeling that someone had got about 6 red hot pokers and was sticking them through my newly aspirated shoulder and a couple were long enough to reach into my brain and pop out through my eyes. Despite this, I was very very sleepy. I managed to rouse myself for the morning meeting, took a double dose of steroids, some pain killers and returned to bed until 8.45 am. Those of you who know me well that this is absolutely unheard of. I rarely sleep beyond 5 am.....
I woke to that slightly disconcerting (Brit understatement!) phenomenum. HWISO had "taken charge". He had made an appointment with the GP to get the repeat prescriptions sorted out, to have my BP and temperature accurately recorded and to have my chest listened to and to get some antibiotics. He had then made ANOTHER appointment with the Breast Care team to get the shoulder looked at as it had filled up with (possibly) even more fluid than the just under 300 mls they had drained out the day before. This is very out of character for HWISO and meant that he was "worried" (again, Brit understatement). Now, I love him an' all and he had done exactly what I was dragging myself out of bed to do, but that does not mean I cannot shout at him and stamp my foot a bit. I did this because, his being as worried about it all as I (secretly) was, meant that I might be a "bit poorly" and I don't like being ill.
That must sound really weird from a terminal cancer patient. Really weird. Probably only someone else in my position could understand it.
Anyways, lots of prodding and tests later, I demanded to come home but only on condition that I stay as isolated as possible and don't come into contact with anyone who may have come into contact with the "green snot" colds that herald the start of a new term, the dip in temperature and the central heating coming on.
Another blog to follow especially for nurses, on how to turn a weeping patient, lying hunched in pain on a bed, into a mass of giggling hysterical laughter with the aid of a bit of water and a needle.