The last couple of weeks have seen us thrice in Cherryade for tests, measurements, blood letting and form filling. With added information. There was once a Welsh preacher, a great orator who is still held in far too high regard by many, however when preaching he told you what he was going to say, then he said it before finally telling you what he'd said. His writing followed the same philosophy in writing 50 pages when a more skilled author could have written 1 or 2. At least he sold many multi volume sets.
I have been reminded of him not in verbosity but in the fact that 3 wonderfully intent and knowlegable medical practitioners have told us a very similar story on 3 occasions and each time the purport of their message has sunk in a little further.
Last week at our final consultation prior to the procedure taking place we were shown how it all works from the place to park, the door to come through, the lady to get a permit from, logging on to their Wi-Fi, tea and coffee facilities and facilities for their removal, where to sit and what would happen where on the day.
Today Chemo#1 arrived. Our NHS never ceases to elicit my utter admiration. The previous visits had removed all of the unknowns, thus our arrival and treatment had such a feeling of normality about it that only when the cannula went in did it occur to me that I'd had no anxiety that I was aware of. Sadly, I remarked to the nurse after she had made the insertion that it felt 'normal".
However, a large reason for that is down to my PA, or at least that is how the nurses addressed her, and rightly so. If I wasn't the patient I'd be surplus to requirements.
Every bit of paper required was in her bag, as were the booklets, particularly the one recording my blood test results. Once the flow of the elixir was well established her bag even produced this tablet and my glasses.
I noted that it had been rather quiet as the nurses recognised our various talents and abilities and so they addressed her directly. Her bag took on the weight of boxes of pills and she took on the responsibility of noting their times, doses and symptoms for the dispensing of the non obligatory ones.
It was almost a relief to be directly confronted by a nurse who told me that I was the only one to handle the pinky ones as they were beastly and exclusively for my use.
Two hours later we made our exit and within half a hour were home. Side effects thus far, nil.
Tomorrow may compose a different tune but thus far I'm delighting in one of two surprise gifts from my Amazonian savvy PA. This morning a replacement remote for the stereo means that I can now operate the streamer and it's volume from the sofa. The previous remote was over 20 years old and dependent on much battery twisting for generating any IR codes at all and 20 years ago streamers were let off at parties. The new one is a delight.
Lest you think this makes me even more bone idle I have to inform you that to my knowledge no remote control requiring batteries is yet able to place 12" of vinyl on a platter, spin it up and gently lower a cartridge held at the end of a most delicate tone arm. So, when playing records I have to move evey 20 minutes or thereabouts which demonstrates yet another benefit of the analogue listening experience, exercise.
The other Amazonian gift, as recommended by our consultant, was a tub of Udder Cream.
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