Hunt the nurse

The following day is a Friday. My parents take me off to see the reflexologist first and the effect is the same as last week, a real boost to the soul. She tells me my liver is clearly working hard and reminds me to rest a lot to help my bone marrow. But I walk out feeling tired yet somehow cleaner, fresher, more of a spring in my step.

Just as well, because now I have to hunt the district nurse down. The bone jab, Neulasta, has to be given 24 hours after chemo finishes. Something tells me 4 pm on a Friday isn't going to be a good time to sort this out if there's a problem. Come 4.45 pm, no nurse. I ring the hospital, where the chemo unit shuts at 5 pm. No-one there. At the receptionist's suggestion, I ring the GP. GP's surgery does not have its own district nurse team and gives me the numbers for the local team. Day team number is not picking up; when I phone the night team number I'm told they're not on shift until 6.30 pm (day team goes off at 5 pm). Good job I'm not sick or have a time critical jab to receive, or anything. I'm afraid I do get a bit snippy with the lady who picks up the phone at the night nurse team, but I genuinely don't know what to do next. I try the day team again and wonder of wonders a nurse answers and kindly agrees to see me now if I can come to the surgery. 20 minutes later and we are all done. She has explained the system to me - in essence please can I come to the surgery and I need to make sure myself that I'm on the list, which I can do now I have the numbers.

I could avoid all this by doing the jabs myself. But you know what? I don't want to. And when finally the jab goes in, on the other side of my stomach from the battered and bruised Zoladex site from Monday, it hurts just a bit and I'm pleased I don't have to do this at home.