4. Settling In

With the trauma of my trip to Southampton and Portsmouth rapidly becoming a distant memory I am now writing from my hospital bed; yes, I made it! I never thought I would actually be anxious to get admitted to a cancer ward, but it is strange how a sense of urgency pervades one’s thinking. Knowing that I have an aggressive cancer makes me panic for every moment that it goes untreated, even if that treatment is likely to make me very poorly indeed. Veteran cancer survivors will probably chuckle at my inexperience, but it is very odd to be told that something silent and deadly is growing inside me – which as far as I am concerned didn’t even exist before 11^th December. There is something amazing about the human spirit and its capacity for survival; whatever the situation, there is a primal instinct that draws us together in times of danger. We become a clique, a special club. Was it Groucho Marx who said  that he didn’t want to be a member of any club that would have him as a member?  He hadn’t been on a cancer ward. I was welcomed with smiles and kindness by everyone, and I feel very safe. Safe because I will be receiving the best medical care possible (apparently Bournemouth General Hospital is renowned internationally for its cancer care – result!) and safe because here I can be funny and scared by turns as the emotions arise. Scared especially of Dot, who runs the tea trollies and delivery of meals. I know all about tipping points from publishing Bernadette Brady’s ‘Astrology, a place in Chaos’. (See my Book Blog for details.) This formidable four feet 10 inches of bristling humanity rules both staff and patients with an iron fist in an iron glove (make no mistake), and she is the human incarnation of a tipping point. How do I know she is 4 feet 10 inches? Because she is about the same height as my sister-in-law. Maybe a bit smaller. No matter. Yesterday (um…Wednesday I think – completely lost track of time) Dot was in a spectacular mood because the night staff hadn’t been round to change the water jugs before they went off duty. Which they do – oh – around 6 ish if we are lucky.  Apparently it used to be 5.00 until the patients formed a posse, safely armed with plastic spoons, to request just a teeny bit more sleep if that is at possible please if it fits in with the schedule. Well they won that battle but I don’t fancy their chances in winning any war against her. I had an inkling of the sheer force of her personality when she asked if I’d like a cup of coffee on my first afternoon here. ‘Oh yes thank you. I’d love a cup of your very special economy, headache inducing, powdered instant coffee please!’ No, joking. But I did say I’d like a mug of white coffee, no sugar please. At least the drinks stay warmer in a mug. The cups are specially designed for hospitals so that the drink is cold by the time it reaches the recipient. Can’t risk people spilling cups of hot tea over themselves as that would reflect badly on the Health and Safety figures. So Dot wanders back to the trolley repeating ‘black coffee no sugar’ to herself. Have you spotted the difference yet? This would only end in one of two ways. And she would win both of them. She came back with – yes! – a black coffee. I hate black coffee. Maybe I would have to drink it. (She wins.) Was I brave enough to correct her? Nope, I’m a wimp in these situations. (She wins.) So I politely asked if I could have milk after all, and she shuffled back to the trolley muttering that I had asked for black. At least I got out of that one intact! The coffee was grim though….. The whole philosophy of being in hospital is really quite interesting. I’m not ill in the normally accepted sense of needing bed rest and constant care, but a lot of the people in here really are. We get amazing medical attention but there is no peace, no sense of stillness in a busy day, which is what people need in order to get better. I am currently in a two-bedded ward in the isolation unit (because that is all that is available just now). The lovely lady I am sharing with is very sick. She had a blood transfusion yesterday, something she has had about every three weeks for the last two years, because in her form of cancer her own immune system is attacking her body and it is destroying her white blood cells. There is no known cure for her condition, but her consultant is leaving no stone unturned in his quest to find something new that will help. After every transfusion she is exhausted. Even I can see that she is desperately tired and yet she is given no peace. Blood pressure check at 6.15, woken again at 7.00 (and lights turned on. We turn them straight off again!) for a cup of tea she doesn’t really want. Immense hassle this morning at just after 7 when Dot throws a wobbly that nobody has ordered their lunch yet on the in-house system. I did speak up that time as I was really cross. ‘Fifteen patients and nobody has ordered their lunch yet!’ she says. This is about two minutes after the lights have gone on. ‘That’s because we were asleep, Dot’ I bravely venture. ‘Fifteen patients and it has to be in by 9.00!’ ‘That’s because we were asleep, Dot’, working on the broken record basis that something might sink in if I say it often enough. It doesn’t. Breakfast follows at 7.15, more drinks at 8.00 and then the bedding is changed and tablets handed out. A tiny oasis of peace then the doctors come in to do their ward rounds. Then it is time for more blood pressure checks. My lovely and very poorly room mate  has just got back to sleep having told everyone she is having a lazy day (like she needs to make an excuse?) when a student nurse appears to check her weight. There must have been about 20 minutes of blissful silence before the next interruption: the counsellor wanting to check that she is OK after being a bit upset the other day. NO SHE ISN’T. SHE NEEDS TO SLEEP. As a relatively healthy person (I am still convinced I am too well to be sick) I am already exhausted by the relentless interruptions and busy-ness that pervades the hospital. I am typing this as the cleaner is moving my bed around. If I leave this laptop for too long without paying it any attention it goes into sulk mode, so as she said I could stay on the bed I am. Quite fun really, up high with the guard rails out so she can clean underneath. Oh no. She is going to my room mate now, who has just got back to sleep! More soon Mxx