On the Saturday morning I had my first enema. I was beyond caring about dignity; I just wanted the pain to stop. I must say, the adult pampers have a certain je ne sais quoi to them and I proudly wore mine all day. It was a huge relief (in terms of cramps and pain) to finally evacuate some of the accumulated constipation. However, one was not enough and unfortunately I was not able to get another one while in hospital. I am still fighting this battle and apparently it is going to take quite a while. Sorry to have to discuss my plumbing so openly but these blogs were meant to be honest and to tell both the good and the bad.
In the ward there were a few nutters. We started off with an alcoholic who kept trying to visit us all and open the windows to escape despite his individual nurse hanging onto him. After swearing at us all (patients and staff included) and redecorating the entire bathroom in a shade darker than magnolia, he was escorted upstairs to the holding bin. The gentleman next to me was once a principle dancer for some major ballet companies, had released a best-selling single (although hearing his rendition of “Summer time” I wondered how true that might have been. The man directly opposite released copious amounts of gas which became wetter and wetter until the nursing assistants had to do the inevitable bed bath duty. Another one came in mid-night and seemed harmless. The next day, a charming and very posh and wealthy gentleman came in. One wondered why he hadn’t heard of BUPA but he was very entertaining, calling all the pretty nurses “darling” and asking for their telephone numbers (he was 86) and being so polite. A true gentleman! His daughter clearly loaded up on hot potatoes before each visit as she “oh daddied” him this and “oh how ghastly daddied” him that. Listening to the conversations of British people from all walks of life was entertaining and I could see why some of the nurses appeared to enjoy their job. The ballerina next door kept ringing his boyfriend to ask why he had left him behind in Cuba and how the hell was he supposed to get back to London on his own (the nurse eventually confiscated his mobile phone at 3am). Sleep was not possible for the three nights I was there...chatting and groaning and snoring patients, chatting nurses, endless blood pressure readings, new admissions, by Monday I was driven insane.
Had some lovely but emotional visits on Saturday. Managed to hold it together during first Tony’s then my parents’ and sister’s visit but by the time my younger bro Michael, my sister-in-law Alka, Adam, Vicki and their baby tigger others known as Daniel arrived, I was a wreck and we all kinda balled our way through the visit. There were some smiles, though, mainly from Daniel. Rob, Alex and Mark then popped in for a sedate and less tearful visit. Sunday’s visiting brought along rob and Alex with almost all of my couchsurfers followed by John and Richard.
Monday, I waited impatiently to be seen by an oncologist all day and eventually decided to discharge myself. I finally saw an oncologist at 4pm who agreed that there was no point in me sitting there doing nothing so John arranged for Richard to collect me and the doctor discharged me.
Since leaving the hospital I have been very fragile and prone to anxiety attacks, but slowly building up strength, learning to eat again and fighting the constipation battle. Visited a hospice today where I will be go for pain control. It is St. Christopher’s and appears rather nice. Most rooms are individual and it is local to my area. Starting a new pain-management regime soon and seeing a radiotherapist on Monday with the view of starting radiotherapy on the third lumber which is where the cancer is now sitting.
This blog is factual, no humour I am afraid, just a true reflection of how I am feeling right now. I need to build up my strength and above all, my confidence and morale.
Love to all,