OK, confession time. This one-week break (which remember I didn’t want cos it dragged things out longer) had its advantages. Some of the horrid physical symptoms were going or gone and I could be more active. Friday I was out in the car and mastered the St James’s multi-storey. Saturday, I went to the dentist. Although I baulked at having full treatment without sedation (obviously I’m not that improved), I had temporary dental treatment for a lost bit of filling or tooth caused by gentle flossing! Monday, I drove to Wharfedale Hospital for my blood tests, dropped Den off and drove on to meet the tai chi group at Cookridge Hall. Almost a normal life, though not quite up to exercise yet.
I left just before 2pm. At 2pm, I was rammed against the rear ends of two parked cars thinking ‘thank god there’s no people around’ and ‘I need to get out of here,’ in that order. I’d completed a simple manoeuvre in the car that I’ve done for the past 20 years. I turned down the ramp and... well, I don’t really know. Maybe I knocked the kerb as I did the sweep round? All I knew was I wasn’t orientated down the ramp and was in danger of driving into the side of a parked car. I wish I had because it got worse. I swept the wheel to the left and did an emergency stop. Only I didn’t. Next thing I knew, the car was hurtling across the driveway at full pelt and rammed into the back of two parked cars.
Looking back, all I can think is that my mind switched into manual drive mode (I got the automatic at the end of August but the cancer and chemo have given me little opportunity to get used to automatic driving. I have it cracked, no longer move my left leg - but is it embedded in my instincts? NO). I must have had my foot pressing right down on the accelerator, not the brake! It felt like a scene out of Back To The Future.
Strange how you can’t recall precise details when the adrenaline is flowing. People rushed over and helped me out of the car, which was making nasty hissing sounds. I could see the front had buckled like a concertina, the black car’s rear was pretty badly damaged and the white car’s rear was damaged on at least the driver’s side. I sat on the floor, stunned. Not physically stunned but ‘how the hell did I do that?’ stunned. I just couldn’t make sense of it. People were lovely. They took me back into Cookridge Hall (I remember one man wasn’t at all happy they were making me walk and believed I should be left till my injuries were identified - as far as I was concerned, the only injury was to my pride), they sat with me, called an ambulance to check me out and obviously called the police. Maureen went off to fetch Dennis.
A few police questions (they didn’t breathalyse me or even ask if I’d had a drink). I think the chemo hair led them to assume it might be a medical matter as I’ve been told they’ve had to report it as a potential medical issue to the DVLA, which will require a medical, and I might have my licence withheld. I am absolutely certain it wasn’t that - I wasn’t even in shock, just totally perplexed that it happened. Then off to the ambulance to be checked over. Everything seemed to be fine but they decided, given the fact I’m going through chemotherapy, I ought to go to A&E for a more thorough check. The A&E at the LGI is not very pleasant and we were there 5 hours at a non-busy time. Although I mentioned the chemotherapy, they didn’t attempt to find me somewhere more isolated - Dennis and I did that ourselves. The eventual x-rays showed no damage, I was offered codeine (no thanks) and sent home. What was so wonderful was the realisation that I’d gone through it all without a single anxious thought about no transport, being stuck, what if I had a panic attack etc. Those are miracles in my book.
I spent the evening informing various people, like the insurance firm, then the underwriter etc, what had happened. With no other drivers, there was no question of my culpability!
Tuesday I had chemo and I’d already decided that Dennis and I would try a taxi - I would after all have lorazepam to take off the edge. Disappointingly we were there well over 3 hours, but it’s an improvement on the 5 hour sessions. Then my 3rd taxi journey home. Within 2 hours, my internal bruising was almost unbearable. I felt I was on fire. The kind of pain where you can’t avoid yelling when you move! I knew it was the Paclitaxel - it causes joint pain but I noticed from the start that it caused tender muscles, particularly under my treated arm. So I didn’t think about it beyond cursing that paracetamol didn’t help one bit and I really didn’t want to take ibuprofen as the last thing I needed was constipation!
Today, I rang St James’s, ostensibly to request the bloods form I need for next Monday, but mentioned the pain. Damn. They insisted I go back to A&E for further checks in case of the risk of blot clots. Pretty good reason I guess. Back in a cab (doing well with cabs!) and what a different experience - relatively speedy and, given the chemotherapy, separate rooms away from the crowds. The doctor eventually examined me, went off to look at my X-rays and concluded that the cartilage between the sternum and my ribs is badly bruised and the inner edge of my mastectomy scar. My back pain is part of the injury as the trauma would have gone all round.
So two big questions.1. Wtf did I do wrong? My last accident was 1975 when I was relatively inexperienced. 2. Why didn’t the airbag deploy? According to Maureen who had just left me and turned round at the noise of a roaring engine, the car was doing quite a speed.
But more than anything, how could I do anything so bloody stupid? Thank god it was a private car park and not a road. Thank god there were no pedestrians nearby and only I was injured. But what a time to get injured. The steroid boost was back today but it’s gone now. The next few days, given this pain, will be hell regardless of the Paclitaxel. I just need a break!!
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