189. Hospital looming

I think regularity and familiarity don’t breed contempt so much as a sense of resignation - ‘ok, I did it last week, I can do it again.’ Have a 6 month break and things change. Having struggled my way through chemo and sundry other treatments off the oncology menu, I face my 4th zometa infusion on Monday and I feel a bit like I’m starting all over again: hollow feeling at the pit of my stomach, surges of anxiety, a sense of dread. The only thing I don’t have is the accompanying loosening of the bowel. Living in a state of perpetual constipation, that’s one symptom I’d fairly happily put up with.

Thinking ahead and wishing to reduce my time in the hospital to the minimum, I’ve been to my medical centre for my blood test. I made sure I got the paperwork 6 months ago after that disastrous effort to get blood out of me that involved almost 4 hours for a 30 minute treatment. Not again. This will run smooth as clockwork. Blood results on screen, no delay in setting up treatment, in with the cannula and away we go. Out in 40 minutes. That’s the theory. Let’s see what happens.

Martin Mucklowe in creepy character

In the meantime, I got a delightful shock on Friday to receive a personal message from Martin Mucklowe. If you’re a fan of the brilliantly-understated comedy “This Country,” you’ll recognise the name - the appalling father Kerry adores and makes excuses for. He comes out of prison and she has such dreams of a life with him; but he just gets her into trouble and lets her down. Not a nice character. He’s played by ‘Kerry’ the writer’s real father, Paul Cooper, and Trina follows all of the Coopers on Instagram.

Paul Cooper, normal human being

She’d asked if they’d send me a message to buck up my spirits before Monday’s treatment - and they did!! I got a 2-minute video from Martin Mucklowe, the first minute wishing me well and boosting my morale, the second minute slipping into the salacious which was very funny but a bit creepy. Once I’d got my jaw back from the sudden drop, I laughed so much. Then he and Daisy-May were on Celebrity Gogglebox last night and it was just such a relief to hear his well-educated voice with its distinct West Country accent rather than the seedy Martin voice! I’d love to post it here but the language is a bit iffy to say the least but here’s the proof of his kindness:

Some people remain unaffected by celebrity culture and are normal and generous human beings. I absolutely loved it. Thank you Paul and thank you yet again, Trina. How you work these little miracles is beyond me.

Visiting the medical centre was my first time actually entering any premises since mid-March. Apart from the fact that the car wouldn’t start in the car park, it all ran smoothly. But it struck me that those of us who have been shielded have missed out on one essential - we don’t instinctively maintain that social distance. I entered the entrance to the centre where a woman was on the only seat, playing with her phone. I started to read the large notices about what to do but there was nothing about reporting arrival so we struck up a conversation. I asked about masks (yes, they were required) at which point the woman raised her mask and I put mine on but wherever I stood, I set off the bloody alarms again or opened the automatic doors. It was like a comedy. I should have just stood outside but it was cold. When the nurse came for me I was at the car, ringing the garage to find out why the car wouldn’t start (I had it in Drive, not Park - I was mortified but I am so out of practice). So I shot back in and after that just followed. Mask on, hands gelled, no touching any doors, three attempts to find a vein and three lots of blood taken, then follow the nurse out, again not touching any doors. If a GP practice is like that, what will the hospital be like??

I am doing my exercises when I remember, but it usually works out at twice a day, as instructed. What I don’t manage is the anti-inflammatory gel three times a day, possibly because it feels like I’m using way too much. Even at twice a day, I went through a whole tube in under a week. I’m overdosing on Voltarol! However, I have noticed that it’s taking less time to get my fingers into working mode in the mornings so something is improving.

Last Sunday, I opened Cafe le Brun and entertained Marilyn and Kiera inside my double garage. It was bloody freezing and, once it started raining, it became way too cold. I must dig out an electric heater for my next entertainment. It was great to meet up with friends, more for the different faces than anything, and very strange not to hug. We dutifully maintained social distance over Jamaican ginger cake (thanks to Marilyn) and hot drinks but, when we were admiring photographs, we just forgot about the 2 metre rule! I think the problem is just not having these things built into our social behaviour by months of practice. It’s certainly not a cavalier attitude. We’re way too old to flout the rules lol.

Speaking of ginger cake, my weight creeps ever closer to 10 stone. Two years ago, I would never have dreamt this would be possible. I’m three and a half stone heavier than I was during chemotherapy! So this week, I faced with heavy heart the need to order SIZE FOURTEEN jeans!!!! There’s no escaping the fact that I am distinctly matronly now. I ordered 12 and 14 and I could just do the button up with the side 12. They weren’t uncomfortable but I wouldn't be able to sit unaware of my tight jeans. The 14 was a bit loose but, if my weight continues to creep up, I will grow into them so - I’ve decided I’d better keep both pairs. My first ever size 14 clothes, apart from pjs when I always order a 14 as I don’t like feeling constricted by nightwear. Dear lord. I’ll have to buy 16 in pjs next! Another first for me. WeightWatchers here I come. The problem is, I simply don’t understand or care about calories. I’ve never had to. Lucky, wasn’t I. Or maybe not. If I’d had some fat to lose, I might not have ended up with this mess of joint and muscle pain. Heigh ho. Swings and roundabouts.