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Have a look at this chart. It's my stress levels on my first day of chemo. It's mental.
When I was a boy I used to say to my mum "I'm starving" when clearly I wasn't starving at all, I just needed some sustenance.
Some people claim to be depressed when they're just having an off day. Or people feel they're treated badly when they're just really a bit touchy about the way they're spoken to.
Just in the news at the moment we find ourselves at risk of "fat shaming" when we tell porky people to perhaps take charge of their own health.
So whats all this leading to? ..... well I'm stressed. Not just a bit pissed off because things haven't gone my way. No, I'm really PISSED OFF!
Let's just have a catch up just in case you're behind my particular curve.
I'm ill, I feel sick, I haven't slept properly in days, I spent yesterday morning in A&E, yesterday afternoon the nurse who was charged to take my bloods at the surgery was 20 minutes late and then after 4 attempts still couldn't find a vein (another nurse found blood immediately). My finger tips hurt if I bash away at the keyboard too hard and my feet feel like I've been walking on hot coals. The immediate effects of my chemo drugs which only finished on Sunday are still conspiring to make me feel dreadful, I have constipation and to top it all I have shingles. Generally today is a big pile of shite.
Sometimes it's bloody hard to see the positives in all this!
"Buck up you miserable git" I think to myself. In an effort to stop feeling sorry for myself I change my clothes and find myself in the car on the way for my port insertion. Tricia is driving, I'm just feeling too crap. This is the much spoken of port which I need to better administer my chemo (a sort of oxymoron... better chemo? there's no good chemo). Its an implant in my chest.
Having an implant, probably for the rest of my life isn't something I suppose many of us want but needs must. I may be feeling poorly but I'm keen to finally get it done. On the 18th of August the procedure was cancelled but only after waiting 5 1/2 hours in a gown on a chair in a side room. On the 27th of August it was cancelled again . Finally, today's the day. It's due at 14:00 yippee (kind of). For those of you that know Truro we're driving past Sainsbury's 20 minutes prior to my appointment. Don't forget I'm feeling crap. My phone rings. My heart sinks. It's the hospital. It's fucking cancelled again!
A cancellation isn't just a cancellation....... the knock on effects are, another covid test, another blood test, a rescheduled chemo day and a rescheduled pump removal and Tricia and I were hoping to get away with the motorhome this week to spend a bit of time with Abbi, Cal and the kids. "We may need to postpone for a couple of days". Well that's our little break buggered. The poor nurse on the end of the line must have had a feeling I was a little irritated. The shortest verse in the Bible is John 11:35 “Jesus wept.” Well, I almost did!
Downhearted, Tricia drove all around the roundabout at Sainsbury's and we headed home.
Again, for those of you who are familiar with the environs of Truro, will know exactly where we were when we were driving past Waitrose. My phone rings again. Can I come in tomorrow for the port implant at 14:00. Well I'm hardly going to say no am I?
So now, tomorrow, we need to leave home at 10:00 for a clinic appointment with my consultant Dr Caroline Parnell at 11:00 then hang around for probably 2 1/2 hours for a procedure that should have been done over 3 weeks ago.
I reckon, tomorrow, I'll have something to say!