That last Monday began with the usual doctor and team visit but this time he asked if I had my "Creon" to which I replied that I hadn't. He would arrange for it and I could take solids because my numbers were looking good, almost normal, he said and then added that we could think of going home soon. The shock of his last statement took a while to sink in but even then I was thinking days, not hours.
The delightful doctor returned and she explained that I'd be on Creon for life and that a pharmacist would be along shortly. She explained that all my numbers were good but I asked about Billy anyway.
Billy Rubin is a marker of liver function / jaundice and it should be less than 1. I had been over 600 for a time. Such values are not good, indeed fatal if maintained for too long. I'd treated it all with a flippancy unworthy of the people earnestly engaged in its reduction. She explained that since my infection had been beaten by serious doses of IV antibiotic my numbers had seen a speedy return to a normality that hadn't been evident for months. The rate at which they had eventually reverted was a good sign so such was their confidence that she was about to write my discharge sheets.
A while later a nurse came along and told us that I was likely to go home tomorrow which she thought a bit soon, as did I if I'm being honest.
The pharmacist brought the Creon and explained it's use and how to calculate the dose which you don't want to know about. Then I had a small portion of beef and mushroom pie, followed by ice cream but then the cook lady who'd always promised to feed me up arrived with steam pudd'n and custard as I'd told her it was high amongst my favourites. Unfortunately, I ate it. It was lovely but being so full on so little was a new experience and I spent an afternoon suffering. I was more cautious in the evening.
More blood tests ensued with a comment that these should be he last. Seems that my leaving was well known but we had no details.
About 1030 that evening Don, the nurse and Janice came to tell me that I was being moved from E Bay to another ward but they didn't know where. There was a bed shortage of epidemic proportions and Tuesday was the big surgery day of the week.
Thus just after 1100 at night porters arrived, put all my stuff in bags and wheeled me away. A brief sojourn in a corridor hemmed in by a load of operating trolleys saw me eventually settled in a basement ward with no windows, recycled cool air, sealed doors and no radio signal whatsoever. I had to revert to the iPod.
I later found out that this 40 bed ward had been used to store trolleys until mid afternoon when the decision to reinstate it had been taken. There was a great deal of technology around and sensors all over the place, this was the ward for use in the event of radiation accidents, or not accidents!
It was certainly full of fresh air and doors in abundance just to get to the toilet or shower. Tuesday morning the doctor and team arrived nodded, smiled and shook hands and told me that I'd be discharged early in the afternoon once the picc(?) line had been removed. That was a bit of an undertaking, too. As he went he said to a nurse that if I kept my lunch down for an hour or so I could go.
Lunch was fish pie but I had declined the extra potato. I should have declined the peas as well. Of course I kept it down although it was a struggle and the trip home was accompanied by a bucket on my lap. I kept it down for 12 hours but once I gave up the fight I felt so much better.
So, home, sore, tired, thrilled and ever so thankful. It wouldn't be all plain sailing but it felt good.
It was a little over a week later that we had to return. Drove an hour there, waited two more, saw the doctor for two minutes during which time he told me I'd have to keep the drain in for another three weeks and off he went. Fortunately, the nurse realised that we needed a few more minutes of his time and got him to return, eventually. My wife asked about the operation, specifically the tumour.
He seemed taken aback that no one had told us but he confirmed that it had been malignant and that once discharged from his care we'd revert to the care of our local hospital who would arrange chemotherapy treatment.
It was at this meeting that it was confirmed that after a thorough search I definitely did not have a spleen.
Then we drove back home but went back in less than 3 weeks to have the drain removed. That made a terrific difference.
So, now we wait for whatever comes next .
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