It could have been worse – I could have woken up in a small puddle of SOMEONE ELSE’S blood
This entry covers Wednesday 4th of February and a few days after. There’s an Introduction to Cancer Blogging, if you haven’t read it.
I went to sleep last night eager to remember the swirl of arcs and circles wheeling through my head. I’m now convinced that Hannah’s proposal, that the Pantheon could be used for sfx at the equinox, is plausible. I’ve also been told that I can be released today. This means more waiting. Obviously the weller I am, the more likely I am to be released. On the other hand it’s the really sick people who’ll be the priority, so they’ll be seen first. While I waited I took a photo for my supervisors, showing that I haven’t been slacking off.
An email later confirmed the viva is back on for the end of February, which is one worry less. Eventually I was allowed home, to stay with my less ill grandmother. She has a stairlift I can use to get up and down so it sounded like a good idea. I’m a bit taller than her, with longer thigh bones. While she can sit on the chair to get up and down, I found I had to contort myself as I sat down. This is painful, so in the end I decided it would be easier to simply hobble up and down the stairs. If confronted I’ll simply say I’m feeling much better than I thought I would.
Sleeping was impossible. I simply couldn’t switch off. I don’t know if that was the painkillers or the steroids. Instead of sleeping I was left lying in bed with the sensation of having someone else’s genitals between my legs. This was less fun than it sounds.
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The next day my iller grandmother died of bleeding brought on by stomach cancer. This explains my family’s reaction when a week later I woke up in a small puddle of my own blood. The bleeding was slight but constant, After a while I accepted that, despite it still being the small hours, I should phone up the nurse. She was understandably reluctant to come out. I live in the Wrong Part of Town. So she asked questions to see if it was really urgent. “Does it hurt more than it usually would?” she asked. 4am is not the best time to try and give a sensible answer. Striving to sound as unsarcastic as possible I told her I didn’t know, not having had the operation before. She decided she didn’t need to come out, and I made an appointment with the local doctor in the morning.
The diagnosis was the cut was infected. This led to a couple of weeks of travelling in for the dressing to be checked. While I have the infection there’s no chance of having chemotherapy.
Useful links:
My Bollox by Alan Mills.
Check ’em Lads another support site.
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