Thursday, 14 February 2013


Sunday night is agony. All day I've felt like I've either got cystitis or thrush, and then Sunday night my body settles on cystitis. Fortunately this distracts me from the fact that I've been seeing blood when I wipe after a poo. I'm trying to keep calm about this and not jump to conclusions but it has crystallised for me the realisation that I'm terrified of the cancer coming back. The swagger and bravado are a thinner veneer than I thought.

Anyway, peeing razor blades every five minutes definitely keeps me sidetracked for a while. Around 5 a.m., pottering around the kitchen making my umpteenth fruit tea to try and flush it out, I check the red book they gave me at the hospital to record chemo cycles. It also has a useful red/amber/green chart of when any side effects require intervention and what that intervention might be. Right there, in big letters, it says if you experience any of X symptoms then phone the hospital as you may need antibiotics within an hour. X includes pain when peeing.

I have been trying to decide who to call in the morning but this seals it. I ring duty matron, apologising profusely for the anti-social hour. She is completely relaxed, and tells me to ring the unit in the morning. Which I do. They haul me in and the RMO gives me anti-biotics. No panic, no fuss, no urgent iv anti-bs. I'm left wondering why I bothered. I know they see this every day, but why alarm patients with the booklet and put unnecessary strain on the system? I'd have waited until morning otherwise.

All bleeding and pain has now stopped, thankfully. Next time I might call Ghostbusters.

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