Round 3, My New Perspective 10 July 17

10th July 2017

 

Well it had been a busy few days on my good week prior this cycle. Now it time for chemo session number 3! Fergus had wanted to be able to come to all the chemo sessions with me but I told him that wasn't necessary at all. This week, he ended up having to go into work. But rather than have me going through it alone, Yvonne came in with me instead. Between the two of them, they have me totally spoilt! I reckon if it was possible to wrap me up in cotton wool and bubble wrap, these two would have done it! 

It was Yvonne's first time in the oncology day ward and it must have been very overwhelming for her. But if it was, she didn't let on. She simply carried on as normal as if we were just walking to the local shop! She was "unshakable", just like Fergus. And believe me, that is the kind of person you want by your side when you find yourself in these situations. In fact, it was only months later, in subsequent conversations, she described the place as "clinical", "hard", "drab", "cold", "terrifying" and "emotional". But her steadiness and her encouraging smiles did well to conceal her frightened and breaking heart inside.

I remember my first impression of the place - it was a place of huge contrasts. Gently smiling, kind faced staff were in stark contrast to the signs on walls and drug trollies warning about highly toxic potentially lethal medical agents. These same medical agent that were about to be pumped into my veins however were supposed to save my life? The nursing staff wore so much PPE to administer the medications that they looked like they had walked off the set of some alien horror movie.

aprons and mounds of protective equipment they had to wear when handling the hightly toxic drugs. The gentle blue of their comfortable looking scrubs was overwhelmed by the bright yellow "sharps buckets" they carried around with the menacing skull and crossbone warning labels indicating 

At this stage, even though it was only my 3rd time here, I felt like a regular and I saw it very differently! To me, it is a special tertiary clinical setting where everyone in there was fighting to stay alive and well! There were no "heart-sink hypochondriac" patients here.  Everybody here had a diagnosis that nobody ever wants to have... "The big C"... We were all here to fight it, We were all here to fight to live. I saw it as more of a "positive" place rather than the stereotypical sad, worrying and depressing oncology ward. 

   It is astonishing how quickly you become familiar with the place... familiar smells, familiar sounds, especially the constant beeping of the i.v.infusion machines as various different kinds of chemotherapies are pumped through kilometers of veins throughout the ward. I'm greeted cheerily by the familiar faces of patients and staff, some of us are already on first name terms. I've already got my "favourite seat" - usually it's the corner one in the larger ward. I never liked the smaller quiet rooms as there were less people to talk with. Even on the days where I didn't want to talk, the silence of those smaller rooms was amplified in my head and all I could hear were my own worries and fears  swirling through my head. Somehow, there was a strange comfort being in the room with 6 other patients, each individually going through their own battle. We were all in our own individual ships - but we were essentially going through more or less the same storm.

 I would have been lost without Fergus and Yvonne. I often feel guilty (even to this day!) at all the pain I have put them through... of all the pain I have put ALL my loved ones through. I know it's not my fault that I got cancer... But I also know that watching those you love suffering and feeling powerless to ease their pain is one of the hardest agonies to bear. I don't know how they did it, and always with a smile on their faces. I will never forget the love, the support, the kindness and all the things they did for me - big and small! 

Before cancer, Fergus used to laugh that on our days off, I was always planning excursions or activities. Anything from camping, boat trips, mystery tours, family dinners, to just days walking around Galway. He used to joke and ask if a day off could actually mean a "day off" - just relaxing watching movies on the couch and chilling. I would laugh back and say "yes" - but only if a day came where one or both of us was unable to get up! Little did either of us know how soon that would ring through for us.

 

There were days I didn't have the energy to shower - but they were there to help me. Some laundry days, I barely had the energy to wash a dish towel, but they did it for me. Our hoover was cordless, but some days, even that was too heavy... so they did it. It's difficult to describe the type of fatigue you experience going through cancer treatment. It's the kind that a nap doesn't help. It's the kind where even the thoughts of taking 10 steps can feel like someone's asked you to do a marathon! They say this fatigue can last form 6 months to 20 years according to different studies. I'm now 3 years on and thankful to say, it's certainly not as bad as it was back then during treatment. But I am sad to say, it is still a huge part of my life and is there, in no insignificant way, every single day.