I was being incredibly selfish in my head, though I was very relaxed and accommodating physically, thanks to my out-of-date lorazepam. Dr G had confirmed on Friday that I was scheduled for the zoledronic acid/Zometa infusion on Monday and, since I’d had a blood test within the last month (that was pushing it but I wasn't going to argue), I could just go ahead with the treatment. That meant it would suit Emma perfectly. By the time she found a parking space, I’d be nearly finished.
If only.
The Bexley Wing seems to operate as smoothly as if there were no COVID. Obviously, many appointments are by phone and everyone is wearing masks but they seem to be confident on the wards and the nurses generally only wear face masks. They have always been absolutely rigorous about wiping the chairs down and disinfecting anything that is motionless for 2 seconds because of the risk of infection to anyone undergoing treatment. No complaints there.
When I arrived, it was a quiet phase and I was seated pretty quickly and cannulated easily (compared to the fiasco of finding a vein the week before). Then they broke the news: they were “just waiting for my files”. Again? I said Dr G had confirmed the treatment for noon on Monday - yes, but he hadn’t sent my file over and, without that, there was no prescription so they had to wait. And wait. It was over 90 minutes before I could start the treatment.
These breakdowns between departments happen so frequently. What’s the problem? I thought files were electronic. Considering it’s the Regional Centre of Excellence, that’s one Brownie point lost in the patient survey, which makes me feel mean. But two hours for a 20-30 minute treatment is disappointing when my poor chauffeur was freezing in her car (she denies it but...)
On the plus side, I got some extra saline - any fluid is good for me as I don't drink enough. Then I had the treatment and Emma drove me home. I felt fine, maybe a bit dopey from the lorazepam, and the next day I was fine doing the online EFT. By the afternoon, I was flat out with fatigue, as always happens, so I didn’t worry. Then on Wednesday, exactly 48 hours after completing the treatment, I was hit by the ‘flu-like symptoms’ we’re warned about. I thought I had fatigue instead but not so lucky this time. I felt awful and couldn’t even knit or read (sure signs of illness). Of course, that set Dennis off again. I am going to have to learn to dissemble with him, if not lie, because it’s not good for him.
Today, it’s back to the fatigue. Tomorrow I’ll be fine - touch wood.
So, that’s me done for a bit. I have a telephone check in 5 weeks time but otherwise it’s another 6 months till the next (penultimate) treatment. I do have the mess of the eye to sort out but I think I can manage that. And of course, I’m promised my covid vaccine by 15 February. I’m not holding my breath. Meantime I can’t get the blood test the doctor wants because I’m told to to go to the hospital (not advisable, according to the GP, fine with a receptionist - shielding) and there are no appointments with nurses. I had one of the most surreal conversations with a receptionist ever. This was after I’d held on and tolerated the most god-awful music, moved from 7th to 4th in the queue and then got cut off. I emailed a rather annoyed summary of my experience and they rang back almost immediately!
Resolution: ring again in 2 weeks when there may be an appointment. Yeah...
Apologies for the whinge. My mood will lift when the snow has gone and the sunshine appears.
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