I started chemotherapy one whole year ago. Can you imagine being in hospital for a year? I sat on a sticky jason recliner hour after hour waiting for a free nurse, for a blood test, for blood results, for the chemotherapy to be made up and then for the nurse to push the chemicals through my hickmans line sometimes the hickmans line didn’t even work. I had to have needles. These were the days I hated most. Then we would wait to see if I had any immediate reaction. Some drugs made me sick in the stomach, some made me lose my voice, some made me completely exhausted. Mum and I used to bring a picnic basket with food, my laptop, books, even sewing things. Each day we spent in 12a ward dreary. In the photos, I think I managed to look happy compared to the way I felt at the time.
The patients were generally aged, the windows had mirror film over them so you couldn’t see the otherwise beautiful harbour views.
Now this is a dreadful picture of me but I think it defines the way it feels everytime I have to have needles. I loved and trusted the nurses at North Shore Hospital. I formed friendships with some of them.
My hickmans drew blood on this particular day. I remember it taking so many goes. I was so relieved. Notice the outfit my nurse is wearing. She wore layer on layer with a mask and gloves. She is prepared to give me chemotherapy. It’s toxic. I can’t believe it went through my system. I was so exhausted from it.
WordPress is telling me I’m out of image space. I’ll put some more in the next blog.