There were some embarrassing times which I feel compelled to describe. These may seem normal to those people who are forced to frequent hospitals more often than 1. But to me they were extraordinary.
After treatment began, so did the restriction on using the shower. So in walks the nurse, sleeves rolled up, prepared for the daily bed wash.
"You're joking!" was my initial response to the suggestion.
She had me. It was an everyday occurrence for her, but I had never been the subject of one. Her grin stretched from ear to ear.
"I'll be able to manage," I said.
"You sure?"
"Yes."
"I'll come back in five minutes to see how you're going."
With that she turned, and left the room.
I jumped from the bed and landed awkwardly on my left ankle.
There was no time to think about that. Then I dipped the face washer in the warm, soapy water, and began to scrub. It felt coarse, as did the towel which I used to complete the task. Luckily, the wash was finished before those familiar footsteps headed my way.
The nausea created by the drugs could be relieved by tablets, or by the use of suppositories which everyone seemed to think were more effective. I wasn't too keen on this type of remedy, but some days I had no choice. The doctor had delivered his instructions, so the nurse would breeze into my room, slip some rubber gloves on, and roll me onto one side. What do you say while this exercise is proceeding? I usually said nothing.
There were also the times when following the inquiries about the regularity of my bowels, an ultimatum was delivered. Either fill the pan, or an enema would be required. I never had an enema.
Everyone was delighted with the results of the first and second CROPs. The number of cancerous cells had declined dramatically, and my stay in hospital looked like being shortened. I was coping with the life "inside" but you could never really get used to it. The longing to go home grew stronger each day.
The early morning awakenings were followed by regular readings of temperature, blood pressure and pulse, and finger pricks or needles sucking blood from my arms. The antiseptic smell hung heavily in the room. Often, some of the readings were finished before I was really conscious.
faffajane
Pro 
Hugs x