Here I am back at my desk with Hannibal sucking away at my side. Fava beans just wont seem the same. I am having the whole crying jag thing again - and having to recognize it for what it is...another form of toxins and stuff coming out of my system. So I need to cry - but not that get me depressed - and being back at my desk is such good therapy. Lots to catch up on, and lots to get excited about. 7 Days of being under someone elses control is very difficult. You get enveloped in this protective bubble of someone telling you when to do what, and even bowels become important - they give you pills.. and so I make them tell me what they are - suddenly there is a new one for softening.... I said Ive already been... ahhhhh but was it soft? Also after the first night I had my own room - I dont think I would have survived without it, and am eternally grateful for whatever powers be they physical or spiritual that was instrumental in that miracle. The good news is... whilst in there I had a CT scan which shows on first examination no other cancers.... oh but wait you have an ovarian cyst... did you know that? No... I did not. Right well could you stay in just one more day and lets do an ultrasound... just to make sure it does not have cancerous markers - yes I can do that. Plus the Vax machine has just been applied, new dressings and I need to get some confidence that my insides are not going to spill out again. The ultrasound is booked for the morning - if I am a good girl I can go home afterwards. So I get parked up in xray (they wheel you there in your bed - love it) and then asked to walk into this low lit room, with a very smart young man with a big grin and a swedish accent... oh and a pink shirt. He is holding something long and white. I said I hope that is not going where I think it is going - he said yes. I am to have an internal ultrasound.... nobody tells you! Really - they say - Up to x-ray and having this; oh up to this department for that. It sounds harmless until another needle has to go in or... a young man in a pink shirt grins at you. So I lay down - he says dont worry I lubricate. I lost my dignity I admit, it was the final insult. An older nurse comes in and leans against the wall - he snaps his rubber gloves, smiles and hands over the plastic spectre..... I just looked at him blankly; oh some women like to insert it themselves.... I said to him No you do what you are paid to do - you do it ... which he did efficiently and without lifting the sheet... he knew, that I knew.... One point to me. In fact, game, set and match. The upshot is - that it is just a cyst; from whence it comes he cannot tell, and so I have a Loch Ness Monster swimming in the pelvic region and for all I care it can stay there. It has nothing to do with cancer - happy me. Whilst waiting to be taken back to my room I was put next to a man lying in his bed. And he made a comment about waiting - I asked how long he had been in for - he said since February - omg - I am not going to complain about 7 days! The connection we had was he worked in Tonga and managed the Dateline Hotel and knew the hotel and the island I had stayed on all those years ago. He also had worked for NZWW as a journalist with June Wisheart - talk about 60 degrees of separation. He has a brother in Auckland from what I could gather but that was all; as his life was back in Tonga. He was not sure if he even had a job there still, and soon decisions would need to be made about his life. And here I am grumbling about making ends meet and having had 7 days in hospital.... I asked him if he would mind my visiting him when I was allowed - he was happy for that - he wasnt able to focus on much, although he did do crosswords - until I can visit him I am going to make up a pack of crosswords from the internet (print them out) and post them off. It will be a while before I can drive and go to see him. He is such a gentleman, one of the old school journalists and in that short time I could see that he was frustrated at having to give up control. He had a stroke it seems, paralysed from the waist down, and now with cancer of the hand. As I write this I am ashamed that I am mopey and crying, for I am sure he was put there yesterday to make sure I am grateful for what I have, and to look outwards. I would love to ask some of you if you had time to go visit him, but I am not sure that is the thing to do..... what needs to happen will be shown to me I am sure. So Hannibal is still gurgling away; I am awaiting a call from a District Nurse so come change him - that will be exciting. The new rules are if anything happens - straight to Emergency. I hope that will not be necessary. Thank you everyone for your thoughts, wishes and encouragement. Please feel free to kick my ass as I do need that - I do not want to slip into the bogs of eternal misery - and I can see how easy that would happen. Back to my desk. I have written enough drivel to last a lifetime. Another hours work and I have earned Game of Thrones; then a nap.
Posted on: Thu, 05 Jun 2014 22:47:40 +0000
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