The Opium Den

For the past couple of days I've been feeling rotten, again. Do I have a cold? (Arghghghgh! Will I miss my chemo?) Do I have SAD? It's been raining and raining and raining and raining and raining and. . . (Nick says only 3 days.) I took to bed. Sulking.

Today Nick figured out the problem. For a couple of weeks now, I've not needed my top-up morphine -- not enough pain -- but I've been taking the 20 mg slow-release pills, anyway. A few days ago I ran out and they require a special prescription. Not only do I need a special prescription, my doctors can't get it together about who gives me what, so I haven't been taking any morphine at all. Withdrawal symptoms, anyone? Never let the hospital tell you you're on too small a dose to have a problem. I got a new supply yesterday and started on halves about an hour ago. Hello world.

Saw the urologist. He went on about my kidneys (which are still O.K.) I said my major problem was my bladder and the infection. That may be your major problem, he said, but my major problem is your kidneys. The look on his face was both horrifying and priceless when I told him how long I'd had the catheter and it hadn't been changed. And it wasn't working, anyway. So it's out!!!! I have these little self-service units called intermittent catheters which I don't seem to need much. Mine's the green model.

When the urologist sent me upstairs to get the Rx from the oncologist, we had a longish wait in the waiting room. The lunch trolley came by and they asked if I wanted to eat. "Oh, I'm not here for treatment," I said, "just for a consultatation." But there was a tray with my name on it (they must not have realised it's my off week), so Nick and I had salad, veal steak, buttered macaroni, goat's cheese, bread and peach compote for lunch. LOL!!

I'm blogging, I'm blogging

Well first, I forgot to tell you about the human fly.

During my last treatment, I noticed a guy standing on the balcony of an adjacent wing of the hospital. Another guy was standing on the balcony around the corner. Then he stopped standing and started climbing. I asked the nurse if this was normal. She said they're working on the new wing, which the oncology unit is moving into in the spring.

Current unit looks all right to me, but I lived for 13 years with English hospitals: Victorian, haven't been cleaned since, light bulbs not replaced, trash unbagged and piled in corners, food delivered down the corridors in tractor-type vehicles -- that have been driven OUTSIDE. I am not making this up.

My legs are going down quite nicely. My feet no longer look like baloons, my legs no longer look exactly like they came from a piano stool, but I still have these golf balls on my ankles. Rats!

Saw the Lyon oncologist on Monday. He was happy with the progress I reported, too. A 5-hour drive for a 10-minute consultation. We decided that the catheter may have to come out as it isn't working very well, anyway, but I don't see the urologist until the 21st. Meanwhile it's Big Girl Panties!!

I also have an infection around the catheter; the microbe is proteus. I looked it up, but it's a bit complicated and I haven't had the time to read. Another test tomorrow and a course of antibiotics, I believe. The Valence oncologist actually telephoned and left a message on the answering machine. They talk to me!

One of the things I've been doing is translating the menu for the hotel/restaurant. When I offered, the owner looked slightly offended, but when I told her she was giving away the napkins and tablecloth with the starter (No, not making this up), she thought she'd avail herself of my services.

We got free drinks out of it yesterday evening. "Do you think we should order a second round and pay for it to be polite"? I asked Nick. We did. That one came free, too. So I bought a magazine. The bar is also the local magazine shop.

For the first time since we've been in France, I have bought a couple of new clothes in advance of the changing season and the advance in my weight. Today I bought a purple knit poncho. I've never worn a poncho in my life. Fat clothes. Here's one of my latest outfits: wide-leg trousers to hide the catheter bag; loose tops to hide stomach. Never been so stylish in my life. The point is, though, I don't mind autumn arriving as much as I usually do.

Read slowly. Nick's brother, John (John B. as opposed to John P., sister Sarah's husband) and his wife, Carole, arrive tomorrow from Spain, so I may be even more behind than usual. They're great houseguests and I'm looking forward to it.

Week-End Retreat

As you know, I've taken to carrying a packed bag with me any time I'm likely to get near a doctor. Friday was to be the start of my new chemo routine. Same drugs as the original -- carbo-taxol -- but every week as opposed to every three weeks.

Thursday night we went to dinner at friends and my urethra completely blocked. (Nothing to do with Marcia's lovely dinner, I'm sure.) I kept thinking it would unblock, but it didn't and, by the time we got to the hospital, I hadn't emptied my bladder for about 15 hours. Chemo got shoved aside while I got a new catheter. And a room.

A few highlights:

• Argument with night staff over whether I had pain or not, resulting in calling Nick to come get me at 10 PM.
• Re-arrival in hospital at 8 AM. "Why did you leave?" asked the doctor. "The nurses insisted I had no pain and I was more comfortable at home."
• End of arguments about pain.
• Since I had bypassed Admissions and didn't have my own TV, my neighbour (or a private room) was kind enough to let me watch cartoons with her.
• Screaming match with another nurse whose temperament, I decided, was not suited to nursing. Later, I discovered she's an intern. She'll be perfect as a doctor.
• To be fair, once we straightened out who knows what, the staff were lovely.
• 2 sonars and a scan.
• Chemo -- at long last, chemo! -- Monday evening in the privacy of my room. I vaguely recall someone calling to me in the night, but the nurse decided to just let me sleep with the catheter attached. I was so grateful. They're very good about letting you sleep.
  
• A move from Surgery to Medical. Surgery has air-conditioning, but Medical have very effective fans. So we bought one on the way home.
• One of the orderlys, practicing his English as he wheeled me back and forth, wanted to know if I was going back up to Stomachology.

I got out yesterday, Tuesday. I slept today. The urologist telephoned. I have an appointment at 2:30 tomorrow afternoon.

Guess I'll go pack a bag.