'Nurse, I've got foot rot', and other stories.....

I've just spent 5 1/2 days in Cheltenham hospital having the procedures I described in the my post. Both bits were supposed to happen at the same time but due to internal waterworks distortion they had to be performed separately. Both bits were successful, thankfully, but I would have to recommend that anyone having stents put in has it done under general anaesthetic rather than local - hurts like hell, even after 8 injections and 10mg of morphine, but at least the surgeon let me watch him poking a needle into my kidneys (via the ultrasound machine) - quite an experience. Anyway, I now have bags connected to each kidney to drain them effectively, and two wounds on my back which means a massive lack of comfort when doing anything. I even have to have a complicated arrangement of pillows to sit down properly

I've also had two of my pre chemo tests done (hearing and lung function), both of which were fine. During the lung function test, the lady in charge recommended a game called Korg DS10 for the Nintendo DS - it emulates the classic Korg MS10 analog synth but adds a sequencer as well - I'm so gonna get that to help with more hospital stays! The lady performing the hearing test was surprised when I exclaimed 'Oooh, a modulated sine wave!' I just can't help myself.

I spent a total of 2 1/2 days as 'Nil by mouth' whilst I was in, and two whole days just sitting around with little but my own brain for company (couldn't have any visitors due to complicated family circumstances). Being a cancer patient is sometimes a very lonely place, and I don't mean that I'm not getting enough support because I'm getting so much it's overwhelming and something for which I will be eternally grateful. It's more in the sense that over the last week virtually all the patients I've met have some kind of cancer, some terminal, some not, but everyone is slightly different, and whilst we could identify with each other on a certain level it remains impossible to completely understand exactly what each person is going through. That said, I struck up some good bonds over the last week, in particular with the chap in the bed next to me, a 62 year old man with terminal cancer. We talked long into the night on several occasions about the whys, whats and whens of cancer and he seemed very curious about my approach to the disease. He was happy to be able to talk everything over with someone outside his family, not involved in the whole process of death and timescale, and I think by the time we parted company on Saturday morning his perspective had shifted somewhat and his whole outlook was different - just from talking stuff through, but then that's one of the points of this blog.

On the day before I left we had a new arrival on the ward called Charles. Poor old Charles is about 300 years old with little or no comprehension of where he is or why he is there. I have no idea why he was admitted, but his condition did give rise to the odd moment of mirth. When anyone (literally, anyone) walked past his bed he would cry 'Nurse' to raise their attention, and when he got lucky and it was a nurse he would ask any one of a variety of random questions or engage them in futile conversations. The best one of these was on Saturday morning when the interaction went as follows:

'Nurse........nurse.........nurse...........nurse'
(sigh) 'What is it Charles'
'I've got foot rot'

I think it will remain the only time I have seen a ward full of people erupt with laughter in unison. I realise I shouldn't laugh at another person's misfortune but in hospital there is little other source of amusement.

My chemo starts next Thursday, so for the time being I'm going to enjoy being at home with my family for the next few days before it all starts getting weird again.