Cancer Treatment Follow Up

As a follow up to THIS POST:

 

The Wonderspouse moved Heaven and Earth on Friday. I honestly don’t know what I would do without him.

 

He spoke to the Chemotherapy Sister (aka Head Nurse) for a long time.

 

He spoke to my GP who doesn’t know me because my GPs keep retiring (and who can blame them with Jeremy Hunt at the reins).

 

Unlike myself who had reached the end of her patience and would have pissed everyone off, he was able to be assertive without causing the medical staff to dig their heels in.

 

Clearly, I don’t have a virus (rolls eyes). I do have a sinus infection. I do, after all, have a history of them. I don’t think the fevers are related to an infection at all. They’re probably being caused by the bone marrow injections.

 

The GP has given me doxycycline. The Chemo Sister said my blood didn’t look too bad. So I have hope that with the antibiotics I will be well enough to continue chemotherapy. I have a appointment with the oncologist on Thursday.

 

I had ripped off my PICC line dressing because it was so tight it felt like knives piercing my skin. So Friday afternoon a very nice, gentle, nurse named Grace created a dressing that not only didn’t hurt, but has started healing the red, inflamed, places.

 

Friday afternoon the Wonderspouse took me to the beach on the way back from the hospital. We just took in the sea air for a bit. It was lovely.

 

Yesterday we had a burger in Worthing. It was a bright, sunshiny day. I tired quickly but still, it was a day out in the sun.

 

So, still a massive uphill climb but at least the demeaning treatment by the Emergency Floor doctors is resolved.

 

Here’s a pretty picture of my beach:

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Battles with the Male Medical Ego

I’ve run up against the Male Medical Ego, head first. Yes, again. I still live in hope that those creatures will become extinct.

As they insist in treating a sinus infection, which they are adamant is viral and which I am equally adamant isn’t (I should know as I’ve had two sinus surgeries for the damn things), with amoxicillin which hasn’t worked on me since I was 10, I am too sick for chemotherapy. I am too sick for radiotherapy and I will continue to be too sick.

So all cancer treatment has been suspended. In all fairness, I think my existence has escaped their attention at this point.

On a positive note, I have a 74% chance of survival from the surgery alone.

My throat hurts. My face hurts. My head hurts. My glands hurt. I’m pretty pissed off.

Here’s a pretty picture of me in my latest sun hat.

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