Daytime television is rubbish.
You would think that given no choice, and having to lie in bed not able to go anywhere or do anything then having a television in my hospital room would be fantastic, it really isn't. There are only so many property, antique and cooking programmes you can watch before your brain is freeze dried. Not to mention the gladiatorial monstrosity that is the Jeremy Kyle Show, how on earth is that man still on television? He's like an insincere Spitting Image puppet with a microphone and a license to patronise.
It's the second day in hospital and I'm feeling so much better, I know I'm not going home yet although I keep testing them, apparently they are sure, I'm in for a third night, and then it will depend on whether my blood tests show a huge improvement in my white blood cell count. I can deal with this because I am definitely feeling brighter, the nurses are making me laugh and my hair is fixed into place until I can do something about it at home. Good job too that I have so many lovely visitors coming in to cheer me up and keep me smiling. One friend who felt as if she may have a cold coming but was unwilling to let me down came to see me anyway to wave through the window and leave me some magazines, fabulous and really appreciated. I'm allowed magazines, I'm not allowed grapes, blueberries or anything which can't be peeled (risk of infection...I'm not even joking) now I know The Boyfriend is good but even he draws the line at peeling grapes for me.
Another day and another stomach injection, but that wasn't phasing me today, a splendid friend was coming, she had given up her day off to spend it with me in my hospital bubble and I couldn't wait to see her. She's one of those friends who totally throws herself into every new situation with absolute gusto so when she arrived in the ward to see me she took it all very seriously, acting like an extra from Casualty she adopted an immediate sense of self importance by walking around wearing a plastic apron and latex gloves, smoothing down the apron and pulling on the tips of the gloves. It was the laugh I desperately needed and I responded by scratching the back of my head and pulling out a chunk of hair...much to her horror.
Aaaahhhh....good times.
I continued with this general feeling of good humour when The Boyfriend came in to visit. I taught him the no-teeth-name-game, if you have never played it I thoroughly recommend it, seriously it is brilliantly funny. We fell about laughing, I didn't literally fall because I was attached to a drip, but I never let a small thing like a medical reality get in the way of having a good time and we were in hysterics when my favourite junior doctor came in, we told him about the game but his professionalism stopped him joining in although I have a feeling he really wanted to have a go.
We discussed my symptoms and although my throat was better I had been experiencing severe shooting pains up the back of my head, and no, not because I was pulling my hair out, I only did that once. The doctor thought that the pains were down to the infection I had, it was probably in my ear, he promised that the liquid paracetamol would soon be arriving on the drugs trolley and that would help. So a good day all round, the doctor left, The Boyfriend left, I ate my dinner and lay down waiting for my meds so I could sleep.
The severity of the shooting pain was definitely worsening, I tried to settle but couldn't, whichever way I lay it hurt, badly. I called the nurse to see when the meds were arriving. She came in, switched off the call button and reassured me that they were on their way.
"It really hurts" I said, pressing down that side my head trying to subdue the sharp throb I could feel.
"I know and I can't do anything but I promise they are doing the rounds" she said, and left me to my headache.
Three hours later and I was still waiting, I had used the call button a couple more times but the poor nurse could do nothing, they had to wait for those qualified to give medication before anything could be done. It was now so bad that I could not do anything except walk around the room holding onto the side of my head trying to squash it and make it stop. It didn't work. By now I was in tears, it was almost six hours since the junior doctor had told me the meds were on their way, I was in agony.
Someone must have heard me crying, I opened up my blind and looked out onto the reception area, I must have looked a state, distressed teary face, sticky-up hair, my hand clamped to the side of my face. I was, to put it mildly, going slightly mad with the pain.
Within ten minutes a different male nurse came in to the room. No apology no explanation just a very abrupt 'Can you sit on the bed please?' I went to lie on the bed and I asked if he was going to give me liquid paracetamol, he didn't reply. I asked again because I was desperate for the painkiller, I knew the other medicine would be the antibiotics to fight the infection but it was the liquid paracetamol which would help the pain and I needed it, actually I had needed it six hours ago.
Obviously aggrieved at being questioned, he looked at me and said "I tell you what, do you want to check the sheet and see what medicine you should be having, then you can tell me what I need to give you" He then shoved the form towards my face.
"I just need the liquid paracetamol" I replied, but I was pretty shocked.
He grabbed my hand so he could put the drip into the cannula, he adjusted the reading light above my bed to see better. Thinking it would be better if he put the overhead light on I asked if he wanted the light on, the truth was my poor arm had really been through it and I was afraid the cannula would come out or even worse the painkillers wouldn't go in. He didn't like that.
"I CAN SEE what I'm doing" he almost yelled at me. "I can see." he said and carried on.
I was now too scared to say much else, he adjusted the drip and I then remembered the other drug.
"How long will this take?" I asked.
"About ten minutes" He replied, then, as if he read my mind about the second drip he continued almost smirking, "To change that one and put the antibiotics in you will just have to call someone else." He walked out and he didn't wash his hands then either. Rude, scary and unhygenic...
I fell asleep immediately through sheer exhaustion, but an hour later the nurse who had been to see me previously came in and the door made a squeaking noise as she walked in and woke me up, I sat bolt upright in bed and was shaking, I was really terrified he was back in the room again. She calmed me down and checked the drip, it had fallen out, no surprise there then. She put it back in and I made her promise me that he would not be coming back, she apologised over and over again that the meds had taken so long, she had thought they had been given to me hours before.
I don't want to bang on about this, one bad experience does not make the NHS, this had definitely been an exception, I was in a pretty bad way the next day, and it was only by having a chat to one of the lovely nurses who had been there on my first night that I discovered he was in fact an agency nurse, and not a regular member of staff. She was appalled and I was told to make an official complaint. To close this particular episode I can say that yes, I have made a complaint, but I also made it perfectly clear in my letter and my thank you card just how wonderful everyone else was in that place, because this is the really sad thing, they all do a really tough job, it is only when you are treated badly by one that you realise what an astounding bunch of people the rest of them are.
I left the hospital that day, I had been given the almost all clear, I was much better and they could see I was on pins because I was so desperate to leave. Sometimes there really is no place like home.
Once back home I had the longest shower of my life and used shampoo for one last time. See? Every cloud and all that, putting away the shampoo and expensive matching conditioner will save me a fortune, not to mention the savings I am making on razors.
Having no hair is weird, I have a lot more sympathy for bald men now. If you bang your head on something it hurts, a lot, more than you would think. If it's cold outside it is really cold, and there is no getting away from the fact that you look like a grown up baby unless you add lashings of mascara, and I don't know many blokes who could do that. People's reactions in general have been interesting, most have been utterly lovely, I, apparently have a good head, 'have' I said...so that helps. I was fitted out for a wig and yes it does look okay, but I don't feel like me in it and it itches my forehead like nothing else on earth so I only wear it if I feel I have to, and always under a beanie with the fringe part popping out.
We went out for lunch one Sunday to a lovely restaurant, I was either feeling brave or stupid, or in fact just warm, so I took my beanies off while we there. I had given the waitress a heads up that I would be doing that and she was lovely. However, I wasn't prepared for one woman who was unable to get a proper look at me as she was facing away from our table, and having been told by her son / toyboy that there was a baldy in the vicinity she spent the entire meal craning her neck or turning in her chair to look at something behind me so she could check me out. That was uncomfortable and a bit sad for someone who really should have known better.
My advice to anyone who sees a female baldy (and it is obvious that we haven't chosen to look like this) is to give them a big smile, tell them they are being brave, seriously, even a sympathetic look works because it takes so much courage to just go out there trying to be normal, no wonder you don't see us around much.
One lovely friend who has a huge heart but not always the best way with words saw me a few days after my second chemotherapy session. I wasn't feeling brilliant, so I didn't have my usual slap on, I warned her I didn't have any hair and asked if it was okay if I took my beanie off and promptly whipped it off. She stared at me for a few seconds and then said:
"OH, have you seen Breaking Bad?"
You would think that given no choice, and having to lie in bed not able to go anywhere or do anything then having a television in my hospital room would be fantastic, it really isn't. There are only so many property, antique and cooking programmes you can watch before your brain is freeze dried. Not to mention the gladiatorial monstrosity that is the Jeremy Kyle Show, how on earth is that man still on television? He's like an insincere Spitting Image puppet with a microphone and a license to patronise.
It's the second day in hospital and I'm feeling so much better, I know I'm not going home yet although I keep testing them, apparently they are sure, I'm in for a third night, and then it will depend on whether my blood tests show a huge improvement in my white blood cell count. I can deal with this because I am definitely feeling brighter, the nurses are making me laugh and my hair is fixed into place until I can do something about it at home. Good job too that I have so many lovely visitors coming in to cheer me up and keep me smiling. One friend who felt as if she may have a cold coming but was unwilling to let me down came to see me anyway to wave through the window and leave me some magazines, fabulous and really appreciated. I'm allowed magazines, I'm not allowed grapes, blueberries or anything which can't be peeled (risk of infection...I'm not even joking) now I know The Boyfriend is good but even he draws the line at peeling grapes for me.
Another day and another stomach injection, but that wasn't phasing me today, a splendid friend was coming, she had given up her day off to spend it with me in my hospital bubble and I couldn't wait to see her. She's one of those friends who totally throws herself into every new situation with absolute gusto so when she arrived in the ward to see me she took it all very seriously, acting like an extra from Casualty she adopted an immediate sense of self importance by walking around wearing a plastic apron and latex gloves, smoothing down the apron and pulling on the tips of the gloves. It was the laugh I desperately needed and I responded by scratching the back of my head and pulling out a chunk of hair...much to her horror.
Aaaahhhh....good times.
I continued with this general feeling of good humour when The Boyfriend came in to visit. I taught him the no-teeth-name-game, if you have never played it I thoroughly recommend it, seriously it is brilliantly funny. We fell about laughing, I didn't literally fall because I was attached to a drip, but I never let a small thing like a medical reality get in the way of having a good time and we were in hysterics when my favourite junior doctor came in, we told him about the game but his professionalism stopped him joining in although I have a feeling he really wanted to have a go.
We discussed my symptoms and although my throat was better I had been experiencing severe shooting pains up the back of my head, and no, not because I was pulling my hair out, I only did that once. The doctor thought that the pains were down to the infection I had, it was probably in my ear, he promised that the liquid paracetamol would soon be arriving on the drugs trolley and that would help. So a good day all round, the doctor left, The Boyfriend left, I ate my dinner and lay down waiting for my meds so I could sleep.
The severity of the shooting pain was definitely worsening, I tried to settle but couldn't, whichever way I lay it hurt, badly. I called the nurse to see when the meds were arriving. She came in, switched off the call button and reassured me that they were on their way.
"It really hurts" I said, pressing down that side my head trying to subdue the sharp throb I could feel.
"I know and I can't do anything but I promise they are doing the rounds" she said, and left me to my headache.
Three hours later and I was still waiting, I had used the call button a couple more times but the poor nurse could do nothing, they had to wait for those qualified to give medication before anything could be done. It was now so bad that I could not do anything except walk around the room holding onto the side of my head trying to squash it and make it stop. It didn't work. By now I was in tears, it was almost six hours since the junior doctor had told me the meds were on their way, I was in agony.
Someone must have heard me crying, I opened up my blind and looked out onto the reception area, I must have looked a state, distressed teary face, sticky-up hair, my hand clamped to the side of my face. I was, to put it mildly, going slightly mad with the pain.
Within ten minutes a different male nurse came in to the room. No apology no explanation just a very abrupt 'Can you sit on the bed please?' I went to lie on the bed and I asked if he was going to give me liquid paracetamol, he didn't reply. I asked again because I was desperate for the painkiller, I knew the other medicine would be the antibiotics to fight the infection but it was the liquid paracetamol which would help the pain and I needed it, actually I had needed it six hours ago.
Obviously aggrieved at being questioned, he looked at me and said "I tell you what, do you want to check the sheet and see what medicine you should be having, then you can tell me what I need to give you" He then shoved the form towards my face.
"I just need the liquid paracetamol" I replied, but I was pretty shocked.
He grabbed my hand so he could put the drip into the cannula, he adjusted the reading light above my bed to see better. Thinking it would be better if he put the overhead light on I asked if he wanted the light on, the truth was my poor arm had really been through it and I was afraid the cannula would come out or even worse the painkillers wouldn't go in. He didn't like that.
"I CAN SEE what I'm doing" he almost yelled at me. "I can see." he said and carried on.
I was now too scared to say much else, he adjusted the drip and I then remembered the other drug.
"How long will this take?" I asked.
"About ten minutes" He replied, then, as if he read my mind about the second drip he continued almost smirking, "To change that one and put the antibiotics in you will just have to call someone else." He walked out and he didn't wash his hands then either. Rude, scary and unhygenic...
I fell asleep immediately through sheer exhaustion, but an hour later the nurse who had been to see me previously came in and the door made a squeaking noise as she walked in and woke me up, I sat bolt upright in bed and was shaking, I was really terrified he was back in the room again. She calmed me down and checked the drip, it had fallen out, no surprise there then. She put it back in and I made her promise me that he would not be coming back, she apologised over and over again that the meds had taken so long, she had thought they had been given to me hours before.
I don't want to bang on about this, one bad experience does not make the NHS, this had definitely been an exception, I was in a pretty bad way the next day, and it was only by having a chat to one of the lovely nurses who had been there on my first night that I discovered he was in fact an agency nurse, and not a regular member of staff. She was appalled and I was told to make an official complaint. To close this particular episode I can say that yes, I have made a complaint, but I also made it perfectly clear in my letter and my thank you card just how wonderful everyone else was in that place, because this is the really sad thing, they all do a really tough job, it is only when you are treated badly by one that you realise what an astounding bunch of people the rest of them are.
I left the hospital that day, I had been given the almost all clear, I was much better and they could see I was on pins because I was so desperate to leave. Sometimes there really is no place like home.
Once back home I had the longest shower of my life and used shampoo for one last time. See? Every cloud and all that, putting away the shampoo and expensive matching conditioner will save me a fortune, not to mention the savings I am making on razors.
Having no hair is weird, I have a lot more sympathy for bald men now. If you bang your head on something it hurts, a lot, more than you would think. If it's cold outside it is really cold, and there is no getting away from the fact that you look like a grown up baby unless you add lashings of mascara, and I don't know many blokes who could do that. People's reactions in general have been interesting, most have been utterly lovely, I, apparently have a good head, 'have' I said...so that helps. I was fitted out for a wig and yes it does look okay, but I don't feel like me in it and it itches my forehead like nothing else on earth so I only wear it if I feel I have to, and always under a beanie with the fringe part popping out.
We went out for lunch one Sunday to a lovely restaurant, I was either feeling brave or stupid, or in fact just warm, so I took my beanies off while we there. I had given the waitress a heads up that I would be doing that and she was lovely. However, I wasn't prepared for one woman who was unable to get a proper look at me as she was facing away from our table, and having been told by her son / toyboy that there was a baldy in the vicinity she spent the entire meal craning her neck or turning in her chair to look at something behind me so she could check me out. That was uncomfortable and a bit sad for someone who really should have known better.
My advice to anyone who sees a female baldy (and it is obvious that we haven't chosen to look like this) is to give them a big smile, tell them they are being brave, seriously, even a sympathetic look works because it takes so much courage to just go out there trying to be normal, no wonder you don't see us around much.
One lovely friend who has a huge heart but not always the best way with words saw me a few days after my second chemotherapy session. I wasn't feeling brilliant, so I didn't have my usual slap on, I warned her I didn't have any hair and asked if it was okay if I took my beanie off and promptly whipped it off. She stared at me for a few seconds and then said:
"OH, have you seen Breaking Bad?"
No comments:
Post a Comment