My thoughts as I wait my turn:
I hate this room - this waiting room full of people who have cancer and their loved ones. Most people have someone with them - I am alone. But it doesn’t worry me. It’s only when I’ve had scans and waiting to receive results that I feel I need someone with me - in case you get that awful and devastating news, that the cancer has shifted further afield.
There’s something terribly depressing about this room. We’re all waiting, the doctors come to call out a name and you look at them expectantly wondering if it will be your name they call. You look at the other people here and wonder what sort of cancer they have. Some look well like myself, others have headwear on and so you know they have had or are having ongoing chemo. Having poison poured through their veins in the hope that it will kill off the cancer or at least send it into submission for eternity (I don’t really know what chemo does).
I still think this appointment is a mistake. I should only be here for my treatment and then be on my way to work. Guess I’ll find out soon enough. Briefly the thought goes through my mind, did they forget something at last months appointment? Did they see something in last months blood tests?
I can hear the people around me chatting. I don’t want to catch anyone’s eye - I don’t feel like smiling at anyone - I don’t feel like talking or being sociable. I feel like today is not such a great day in my head. I feel like the positivity has seeped out and completely left me void. I am an empty cancerous shell. I have the realisation I am MBC - with no cure. I mean of course I have known it all this time and most of the time I just get on with it. But sometimes it smacks me in the face all over again. I wish I could just get on with life and enjoy it but the constant aches and tiredness are a never ending reminder and so instead of enjoying time, you spend it hating cancer, feeling anxious, hating the ongoing symptoms you exhibit and its bloody exhausting to be honest.
Treatment time:
Oncology appointment over, now down at acute oncology for treatment. No sinister reason for the call back this month - she just wanted to check something out. We had stopped some tablets I was taking, not cancer related and just making sure no issues arising from it.
My calcium levels are elevated which could be due to being dehydrated at the time of the bloodtests. These are being checked again today and so the nurse has taken them but is reluctant to start the zometa infusion until she finds out from the oncologist if we need to wait on blood results to see if I need a drip to help hydrate me before the infusion.
While I wait for the nurse, I can see a tow truck is hooking a car up and the hospital clerk has just come in to make sure we all have our oncology paperwork on our dashboards. Getting stricter and who can blame them...these carparks are for the convenience of those of us who need them. Its like disabled carparks - they are there for a reason and shouldn’t be abused.
Nurse has come back - oncologist just wants to see trend of calcium levels as they have been on the rise for the last three months . No waiting around required - hook up of zometa infusion starting and I’ll be out of here soon.
This little unit ‘acute oncology’ is so much nicer than building 8. Maybe because it is smaller, not so many people. I just find ‘8’ so depressing. Perhaps its simply because of what it stands for...
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These were my scribblings in my notebook today while I was waiting to be seen and during treatment.
I won’t see the oncologist for another three months, so January 2018. They will send me for a CT scan before so I can get results at the same time. These are the results that make me nervous - they show if the cancer has spread. Its a constant fear that is always in the back of your mind...but for now I will continue on the same regime since it’s working well
Monday 16th October 2017
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