For my first dose of Herceptin I have to stay in hospital all day to be monitored in case I have an allergic reaction. I drove myself to radiotherapy every day, but unsure how I'll feel after the Herceptin Husband takes me in. We're ten minutes into the journey when I realise I've left my glasses behind. This is a major catastrophe. I'm going to be hooked up to an intravenous drip for six hours and I'll be unable to read. I yelp in horror. Husband slams the brakes on, nearly standing the car on its bonnet and asks if I want to go back. I consult my watch and decide there's no time.
I find myself back in Alice in Wonderland territory, the same room I had for my first chemo, the one with the huge clock. I suspect I'm going to be watching it rather a lot. The nurse can't get into a vein - chemo has played havoc with them. She abandons the first effort and the second goes into the tissues. Her third attempt, into a tiny awkward one, seems to work. I explain my non-glasses predicament and she takes pity on me. 'I'll lend you mine' she says, adding apologetically, 'But I'll need them back for work at some stage.' I agree, having decided on balance that checking chemo drugs is marginally more important than my su doku, and get on famously with them till she returns part way through the morning to claim them back. Reluctantly I surrendour them, abandon the papers and switch on the TV.
We're busy viewing a house in Birmingham. To buy or not to buy is the question. After lengthy deliberation I decide against it. Next programme I'm scouring an old lady's home for antiques to flog and promptly bid back for them in the auction rooms, though I pass on a German soldier's helmet from the first world war. I have a brief interlude with the news and then we're plunged headfirst into the agonising relationship traumas on Ramsey Street. After successfully diagnosing atrial fibrillation in a grumpy old man in 'Doctors' I really have had enough and go back to a rather fuzzy su doku.
After six hours I'm deemed not to have had a reaction, thank goodness, and the drip is dismantled. As I leave I talk to one of the nurses who's just completed a triathlon to raise money for the chemo unit. She points out an impressive array of photos on the wall taken by her colleagues. She's wading into the sea, swimming off to the horizon, getting on her bike, cycling furiously, dismounting and eventually running, jubilant, to the finishing line. I admire them and, exhausted, stump up double the amount I'd originally sponsored her for.
Jeannie:
You make surfing through the TV channels humorous! Sorry the glasses were not in the same spot as the wearer! That is one advantage, or some would say a disadvantage, to having to wear my glasses all the time. I have often seen people at the pool (where I only wear my goggles) and not known them on the street, although there is a foggy memory of having seen their faces before!!
You did not mention that you had a reaction to Herceptin, other than being tired. Hopefully it went well!
Is you head getting itchy from the new 'curls'? I am sure you will be happy to put Heidi to rest on the top shelf of the closet!
You will have to put a sign on the dash of the car - "Do you have your glasses?"
Glad that day is behind you!
Love, Peg
Posted by: Peg | October 15, 2007 at 05:51 PM