Hello All, It is less than a week since I posted up my last blog, and here I am composing another. A couple of days after posting up the last blog I was sitting at home waiting on the CIT (Community Intervention Team) Nurse to call and flush through and re-dress my picc line. This was to occur on the Wednesday. On Sunday I had developed those awful sores in my mouth and throat again and this was making me irksome and feeling rather ill. On Monday I decided to spend my day once again catching up on household finances, chasing up queries from insurance people and renewing both mine and Gerry's car taxes. I have to be honest doing these chores had me feeling so utterly drained. Once I had done what I had set out to do I decided to lie down on the sofa. The fatigue was beyond draining. I lay down and before I knew it I was fast asleep, only to be woken when my boys came home from school. On Tuesday the sores were worse once again affecting my speech terribly. Eating or drinking anything was not just a chore, it was becoming a torture. I spoke to my GP in floods of tears on the phone, I listed out what I had and Dr Coates gave me the names of further treatments. Kim Flynn called around with Daktarin Oral Gel which was exactly what Dr Coates suggested and I lashed it on. I once again lay on the sofa and slept. How I was sleeping at nights too, God only knows! As I have already mentioned the fatigue is beyond belief. It is as though I have been turned into some sort of a zombie. Wednesday, the boys were leaving the house for their lift to school. They said their goodbyes and headed off. "Make sure you have a key boys!" I called out, just in-case I am asleep when you get home and can't hear the doorbell. The sleep that I have been going into is very deep and waking me can be something of a nightmare. I turned on the television and had Ireland AM on. I lay on the sofa with my head on the arm. I had my blanket Diane made for me covering me from head to toe. Trying to keep my eyes open was a virtual impossibility. I looked at the clock, quarter past eight in the morning. Gerry had already left for work and there was nothing for me to do, so I thought, 'Just sleep this chemo off Murph!' my dry, tired eyes fluttered a couple of times and before I knew it I was fast asleep. I slept and slept. I woke up to the persistent ringing of the door bell. I glanced up at the clock quite groggily and feeling as though more sleep was needed. 'No! that can't be right!' The clock read 4:00p.m. I stumbled to the door and opened it. The Community Nurse had arrived. "I am so sorry, I had fallen asleep! What time is it?" I asked as I let her into the house. The nurse confirmed the time, and I felt bewildered and in a dreamlike state. "Elaine, I am going to take your temperature before I flush the picc line!" stated the nurse. This she did and it was 39.7 degrees. "I am afraid it is off to hospital for you" and she proceeded to call an ambulance. This fatigue and constant desire to sleep was a direct link to the high temperature and once again the un-welcome symptoms of neutropenia. I was taken by ambulance directly to St. Vincent's hospital. Once here, I was greeted by the nurses who, by now know me on first name terms, and immediately put into isolation. I was put onto drips of antibiotics and IV fluids. I felt so ill. I am not actually sure how long I was in the Isolation section of A&E, but before long I was moved into a single room on St. Michael's ward. Once again the nursing care was fantastic. I was on copious amounts of antibiotics. Anyone entering my room had to wear an apron and a mask in order that no germs were spread to me. My immune system was through the floor. Not only that, but my oxygen levels were very low and so onto oxygen I was put.
The nursing staff and doctors on St. Michael's ward were amazing. They popped in regularly to check on me and gradually they managed to nurse me through the neutropenia. Finally my bloods were coming back up and the white cells were increasing, building up my immune system and having me feeling human again. I was sleeping less and reading, crocheting or gaming on line more. By the Sunday I was like a new person. This particular evening, the ward nurse popped into my room.
"Elaine, can I ask you a big favour?"
"Of course you can"
"Would you mind if we move you from this single room onto the ward?"
"Well is my neutropenia settled? Will there be any chance that I can pick up any virus? Are there any coughers and splutterers on the ward?"
"You are now out of the dangers that neutropenia brings. It is a surgical ward and not a medical ward that you will be on so there are no viruses and no there are no coughers and splutterers. We have a lady who needs a single room!"
"Of course, that is no problem!"
I had noticed a lady in the ward opposite my room a few days earlier when I peeked out during my 'isolation' days. She too had not got a single hair on her head. Yup, that dreaded cancer once again. I prayed that she made the recovery that I had and would soon be up and about with her family.
I packed my bags and went to sit in another room whilst the nurses swapped my bed and took my bags to the bay in the surgical ward with 4 other women. It was approximately 9:00 p.m. when this was taking place. The lady was wheeled in her bed into the room I had just vacated and I was then brought to my bay. Most of the women had curtains drawn around their beds, so I too drew mine and before long I settled down for the evening and started to sleep. In all fairness I did have a good night sleep, only to be woken up early hours by... yes you guessed it... a cougher... an my goodness cough she did. I being me, thought, "Ah shit nooooo.... I have come here to get better not catch anything else!" I did no more than dive for my mask and instantly put it over my face. Wearing these masks are not at all comfortable, you certainly would not want to be claustrophobic, the also make you sweat like crazy and when you are bald this sweat cannot be hidden and rolls off your head as though you have just come out of a shower. Masked and with a red, sweaty face I tried to get back to sleep. Well this bloody coughing continued. I swear at one point I heard her lungs hop off the floor and bounce back into her chest, not unlike a pair of yo-yos. Yes the coughing was that bad. In fact, anyone from my era remember 'Mutley'? had I not been any the wiser, I would have thought he had been given a bed on the ward. The nurse came round to attach another IV of antibiotics and to check on the fluid I had attached. It was a bag of fluid to be given via IV over a period of 12 hours. It was just under half full. I looked at the nurse and she looked back at a masked, red and very sweaty me and I mouthed...
"You told me there were no coughers... I could be breathing in anything here!"
I wondered why the nurse was looking at me strangely, as though I was a tad demented, when I realised I was mouthing these words through the mask and the nurse hand not got one clue as to what I was saying.
"I beg your pardon?"
The perplexed nurse asked... I repeated my statement, this time minus the mask. The nurse smiled and assured me that this was not a viral cough but one that was brought on through asthma, and I could rest assured I would not catch anything, although she understood my fear. I carefully took off the mask and thought "I bloody hope not!" I got up and tidied my bay, opened my curtain and nodded good morning to the lady opposite me. Gradually all the ladies woke, breakfast was served and we all chatted along nicely. Cougher in the corner apologised for keeping anyone awake and explained how her cough kept her awake. We all chatted and got to know each other. All the ladies were in for a variety of surgeries and then one commented about the lady who had vacated the bay I now inhabited.
They lady had been sitting up laughing and joking with all the other patients on the ward on the Saturday evening. That night they all said good night and fell asleep. The lady who was now in the single room with her family around her, did not wake up, and very, very sadly quietly passed away mid morning on Monday. I didn't know who she was, but she too had cancer and unfortunately lost her life because of it. I hope you are resting in peace and are now out of any discomfort and pain.
Dr. Gullo came round and was very pleased with my improvement. He said that it would be possible for me to go home the next day. I then asked, that as my husband Gerry was currently at the hospital attending a clinic for his post op assessment, would it be possible for me to be discharged that day to save the drive to and from the hospital two days in a row. This was agreed and so I packed my bags and spend the morning crocheting and chatting to the other ladies on the ward. There was a lovely atmosphere on the ward and everyone was so supportive of each other. Gerry arrived on the ward and we waited for the discharge letter and prescription for the antibiotics I was to take for the next two days.
I spoke to my Mum on the phone to let her know that I was being discharged and she surprised me with the information that both Mum and Dad would be coming over on Wednesday and staying with us for two weeks. Excellent!
My Parent's arrival!
On Wednesday Gerry headed off to work as usual. Joe, Jim and myself took our time to get up and begin our day. They boys were amazing and hoovered the house from top to bottom. They then cleaned the bathrooms and tidied up all the rooms. I pottered about downstairs and started on the kitchen. It is amazing at how quickly you become shaky and weak, needing to sit down to get back some energy. Mid morning, the doorbell rang. Mary Green, my friend and colleague had called to visit. It was lovely to see her and catch up with this lovely, gentle lady. We did a lot of laughing and catching up. Mary the flowers are beautiful, thank you. Mary left and I continued to slowly tidy up the kitchen, and wash down my units. The boys unpacked and re stacked the dishwasher. I cleaned my oven and then prepared a chicken for tonight's tea. I put the chicken into the oven and Joe peeled the potatoes for roasties and mash. Carrots, cauliflower and broccoli were put into the pan and we also decided to have some Yorkshire puddings. At 5:30 pm, the gentleman from 'Growing up in Ireland' knocked on the door to interview Joe, Gerry and myself. I continued to prepare the dinner and the interviewer continued to ask his questions. He continued on until 7:30pm, by which time my parents had arrived. They sat in the lounge whilst I continued the interview with your man. About half an hour later he was packing his stuff and leaving. I went into the sitting room and had a huge hug from both my Mum and Dad. I had a roast dinner cooked and ready to serve up for all of us. It would be the first meal that I would have eaten for over a week. Even now I wasn't sure that I would be able to each much of it as my throat was still very sore and the taste of my food was appalling, all thanks to chemotherapy.
I went back into the kitchen to make the gravy and to dish up the dinner. Suddenly Mum came into the kitchen with my Dad.
"Elaine, can you give me a hand here, you Dad is complaining of a pain on his chest, help me with the buttons to get his shirt off will you!"
Dad was pulling at the neck of his top as though in some discomfort.... "Ah Jaysus, don't let there be anything wrong!" I thought. I undid the buttons and pulled up Dad's jumper and shirt to see what was bothering him.
Oh Holy Mother Of God!.... My Father at the age of 75 has had his first tattoo... not just any tattoo, but right above his heart he has the breast cancer ribbon tattooed onto his chest.
"This, my love is for you, you have to carry your scars and I will carry this, just for you. I just want you to know that I am supporting you"
It was a combination of laughter and tears of joy. My Dad did this for me. As Dad said, the two things he did not like in life... Tattoos and the colour pink.... What does he get? A tattoo of a pink ribbon, just for me. My Father, My Hero. In fact as I sit here, I am still shaking my head in amazement. Tattoos have been a bit of an issue over the years, from the moment I got my first tattoo 28 years ago, to the latest only 18 Months ago. My brother, like me, is also very much into his body art. Welcome to the inked club Dad. I wonder if I will be getting tattooed at the age of 75. I guess I will have to, just to mark my father's inking.
https://youtu.be/xGid5G71aig
Today is the first time in ages that I have felt anywhere near human. Mum, Dad and I took Joe and Jim to school as they had an interview to attend. Whilst we were waiting for them to finish, we nipped into the Bread Basket in Kilcoole, where a lovely hot chocolate was enjoyed by myself whilst Mum and Dad enjoyed a pot of tea for two. We had a lovely chat about all sorts, put the world to rights. We returned to the school for the boys and then went on to Dundrum where the boys purchased shoes from Shuh and clothes from Penneys. I didn't feel quite up to going through rails of clothing, that can wait for another day when I fell a bit on the stronger side. In the meantime, I am going to enjoy my parent's visit and admire my beautiful pink ribbon. Thank you Dad, you really and truly have amazed me. 75 and getting your first ever tattoo, Just For Me! I love you.
On Wednesday Gerry headed off to work as usual. Joe, Jim and myself took our time to get up and begin our day. They boys were amazing and hoovered the house from top to bottom. They then cleaned the bathrooms and tidied up all the rooms. I pottered about downstairs and started on the kitchen. It is amazing at how quickly you become shaky and weak, needing to sit down to get back some energy. Mid morning, the doorbell rang. Mary Green, my friend and colleague had called to visit. It was lovely to see her and catch up with this lovely, gentle lady. We did a lot of laughing and catching up. Mary the flowers are beautiful, thank you. Mary left and I continued to slowly tidy up the kitchen, and wash down my units. The boys unpacked and re stacked the dishwasher. I cleaned my oven and then prepared a chicken for tonight's tea. I put the chicken into the oven and Joe peeled the potatoes for roasties and mash. Carrots, cauliflower and broccoli were put into the pan and we also decided to have some Yorkshire puddings. At 5:30 pm, the gentleman from 'Growing up in Ireland' knocked on the door to interview Joe, Gerry and myself. I continued to prepare the dinner and the interviewer continued to ask his questions. He continued on until 7:30pm, by which time my parents had arrived. They sat in the lounge whilst I continued the interview with your man. About half an hour later he was packing his stuff and leaving. I went into the sitting room and had a huge hug from both my Mum and Dad. I had a roast dinner cooked and ready to serve up for all of us. It would be the first meal that I would have eaten for over a week. Even now I wasn't sure that I would be able to each much of it as my throat was still very sore and the taste of my food was appalling, all thanks to chemotherapy.
I went back into the kitchen to make the gravy and to dish up the dinner. Suddenly Mum came into the kitchen with my Dad.
"Elaine, can you give me a hand here, you Dad is complaining of a pain on his chest, help me with the buttons to get his shirt off will you!"
Dad was pulling at the neck of his top as though in some discomfort.... "Ah Jaysus, don't let there be anything wrong!" I thought. I undid the buttons and pulled up Dad's jumper and shirt to see what was bothering him.
Oh Holy Mother Of God!.... My Father at the age of 75 has had his first tattoo... not just any tattoo, but right above his heart he has the breast cancer ribbon tattooed onto his chest.
"This, my love is for you, you have to carry your scars and I will carry this, just for you. I just want you to know that I am supporting you"It was a combination of laughter and tears of joy. My Dad did this for me. As Dad said, the two things he did not like in life... Tattoos and the colour pink.... What does he get? A tattoo of a pink ribbon, just for me. My Father, My Hero. In fact as I sit here, I am still shaking my head in amazement. Tattoos have been a bit of an issue over the years, from the moment I got my first tattoo 28 years ago, to the latest only 18 Months ago. My brother, like me, is also very much into his body art. Welcome to the inked club Dad. I wonder if I will be getting tattooed at the age of 75. I guess I will have to, just to mark my father's inking.
https://youtu.be/xGid5G71aig
Click the link to see Dad's Tattoo Reveal.
Today is the first time in ages that I have felt anywhere near human. Mum, Dad and I took Joe and Jim to school as they had an interview to attend. Whilst we were waiting for them to finish, we nipped into the Bread Basket in Kilcoole, where a lovely hot chocolate was enjoyed by myself whilst Mum and Dad enjoyed a pot of tea for two. We had a lovely chat about all sorts, put the world to rights. We returned to the school for the boys and then went on to Dundrum where the boys purchased shoes from Shuh and clothes from Penneys. I didn't feel quite up to going through rails of clothing, that can wait for another day when I fell a bit on the stronger side. In the meantime, I am going to enjoy my parent's visit and admire my beautiful pink ribbon. Thank you Dad, you really and truly have amazed me. 75 and getting your first ever tattoo, Just For Me! I love you.
