Escape

I managed to escape. My platelets were still incredibly low, but everything else had bounced back. So with the promise that I wasn’t going to cut myself or run into anything, and that I would rush back to hospital if anything wasn’t quite right, I was allowed to flee to the comfort of my own bed.

I was there a week in total, my shortest admission yet.

I’d got tetchy earlier than usual too, partly because I felt fine, but also because I was getting very tired of the antibiotics regime.

So the way the antibiotics work, I get 30min (or 60min) antibiotics, 10min flush. For some reason. The nurses don’t really understand how desperate I am to get disconnected. Like when it’s 9am when they finish. My antibiotics started at 6am. 10 more minutes until freedom when I get changed out of my sweaty night hospital gown and into my real clothes, until I can go to the bathroom without dragging a pole, until I can stand at the window, until I can dance.
‘I’ll just put a flush on for you,’ says the nurse.
‘Great!’ I beam.
He sets it up and off he walks.
I look at the pump.
1 hour.
Whhhhyyyyyy.

It tests even my patience. At one point they put a 5 HOUR FLUSH ON which didn’t make any sense to me. I called them back to set it for 10 minutes then disconnect me.

The antibiotics were going at 6pm, 9pm, 12am, 6am, 12pm. And with each of them taking at least an hour in all, some 2, I was going mad getting woken up by pump alarms every few hours during the night, only grabbing an hour or so here and there around it. I was starting to lose my mind.

I can’t even begin to tell you how well I slept my first night back in my own bed.

Chemo has been put off until the 26th now to give my platelets time to bounce back. So I have an MRI on Sunday morning, but then I’ll be able to have a week with no appointments, which will be brilliant for my sanity. A week to be on my own schedule, to not have to be going to or staying at the hospital or Cotton Rooms, a week to get back into my own routine and not have to engage with people every hour or so. And most importantly, get a bit of space to not have to think too much about cancer stuff.

2 Comments Add yours

  1. That space is so very important.

    Like

  2. jenanntuck says:

    Dear Jen That’s great that you are home in your own bed and can get some peace and quiet. Huge surf this morning at Warriewood after the tsunami near Tonga. Your mum was at yoga πŸ§˜β€β™€οΈ Thinking of you. Jen 🌈🌈🌈

    Jenny Tuck 0419 801320

    Sent from my iPad

    Like

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