When the white blood cells are few in number because of the devastation of chemotherapy, the danger of infection by micro-organisms becomes serious.
There was no way that the cancerous cells in my body could be eradicated without drastically depleting the numbers of circulating leukocytes. It was a tribute to the resilience of my system, that their numbers rose steadily soon after each onslaught of drugs; but even so there were times for concern. Without a fully functioning immune system, a minor infection could take on catastrophic proportions. The methods used to limit the chances of such an event, at times, seemed quite odd to me.
"Reverse Barrier Nursing" signs were displayed on the door and above my bed. They were there to remind or inform the nursing staff of their responsibility in limiting the prospect of cross-infection, while I was particularly susceptible.
Under normal conditions, it is the nurses who are at most risk of contracting a contagious disease, while performing their duties in a hospital. But while I was undergoing chemotherapy, it was I who was in danger from the nurses. So they wore paper ¬thin masks, and lathered their forearms and hands in antiseptic fluids, to minimise the chances of this occurrence.
For months after the initial treatment, my parents insisted that all visitors followed this practice. They were under instructions from the doctors. Even at home, after my stint in hospital, I wore a mask and avoided anyone with the slightest hint of infection.
Amazingly, I was encouraged to use the toilets common to all patients in that ward, where a most cosmopolitan array of potential pathogens would probably be found. And different doctors gave my parents different advice. They were understandably confused, and concerned.
