I’ve been at home a month now. That’s only half the time I spent in hospital. It’s been slow but I’ve enjoyed the freedom and my progress shows it.
I spent the first week at my mother’s house reintroducing myself to real life. Showers were taken seated because I couldn’t stand longer than a few minutes. My legs weren’t strong enough and I had to push myself off the loo with my hands. I took lots of naps and ate plenty of tiny meals. Milk has become an issue. I suppose my stomach’s still settling after all the ops. Interestingly, I’ve noticed daily improvements which is encouraging.
By the end of the first week, I went home. I drove myself the short distance to the post-op appointment. I was still reeling with the excitement of being able to be out doing my own thing rather than trapped in a hospital room. A small wall in the parking lot didn’t seem like a big deal until I tried to hop over it and my leg nearly collapsed under me. By the time I arrived, my heart was pounding in my chest and I was out of breath although I’d been walking at a fraction of my normal speed. It was a wake-up call of how far I still had to go.
Part of the furniture
The furniture’s changed and been re-arranged but there’s a distinct smell about the Oncology Centre that rushed me back 20 years. I hadn’t expected it and, scared and panic-stricken, I choked back a few tears but lost them when I got to the doctor’s office. At 57kg, my weight was low but I was given the thumbs-up to start with chemo. I was given a tour of the “new” centre which was a lot to take in given the clashing of old and new mental/visuals. I battled to focus when I was told about a port they recommended I have implanted. Another procedure? So soon? I wasn’t sure I could handle it. I battled with the needle-prick as I had blood taken for testing. I felt thoroughly processed by the time I Ieft like a cartoon character popping off an assembly line it’d fallen onto unexpectedly. I’d been totally unprepared. I didn’t think I needed to be. How arrogant. I’ll not be arriving at the first treatment alone; that’s for sure.
The doctor’s concerned that I’ve been driving. I’ve been told to stay away from work and crowds because of a risk of infection in my weakened state. I can manage that. I tire easily anyway. More tests – kidney function, CT scan, a port insertion procedure, and I’m good to go.