9 NOVEMBER 2023

‘No weapon that is formed against thee shall prosper; and every tongue that shall rise against thee in judgment thou shalt condemn. This is the heritage of the servants of the Lord, and their righteousness is of me, saith the Lord.’ Isaiah 54:17

Today’s post could have been quite sombre, if it was to reflect how I felt after Operation Port Insertion, but instead I shall borrow a cheery message sent by my cherished friend of over 30 years, Becca (whom I shall call Bridesmaid Becca to avoid confusion with Nurse Becca) :

Happy Portocath Thursday!

Doctor Frankenstein was actually very lovely indeed, apologising for each and every one of the many extended bee sting-like punctures of my chest and neck that administered local anaesthetic.  Once I was finally nicely numb, the procedure wasn’t so bad, just a lot of pulling and tugging (‘Just parting your muscles now,’ Frankenstein chirpily informed me.  Thanks, mate, but definitely too much info).  When all was done he also thought it would be fun for me to view the x-ray proudly displaying the new metal trophy in my chest.  Going through airport security will be interesting… (but the opportunity to do that would be more than wonderful)

Shortly after we arrived home, the anaesthetic began to wear off, inciting Bertha and new house guest (whom I shall name Portia) to a duel, the aim of which was to see who could cause me the most pain. Portia wiped the floor with Bertha. Impressive! I was about to join in the scrum myself with my new secret weapon, morphine patches collected earlier from the pharmacy, when a quick peruse of the side effects made me think twice. ‘You may experience nausea and vomiting’, the leaflet related, ‘but these should ease within 7 days.’ 7 days! I didn’t want chundering on top of everything else next week, thus chose to go with the enemy I knew, pain.

I had a very dark moment when Steve had gone to collect Isaac from school.  Everything suddenly overwhelmed me and I wanted it all gone- the tummy, the portacath, the tumours, the pain, even the flippin’ vitamins.  But just as I reached the pinnacle of the crescendo of woe, the dark moment was ironically stopped in its tracks by a literal dark moment, or rather a dark 45 minutes as there was a sudden total power cut: not just in our house but the whole of the village, street lamps and all.  I couldn’t even see my hand in front of my face.  Ooh, this was exciting!  We never get proper power cuts nowadays!  I was instantly snapped out of my thoughts as I had to work out what I going to do.  We didn’t have a drawer full of candles like we used to in the Eighties, so my only option was to stagger from the kitchen to the lounge in search of my phone and its torch, arms flailing about in an attempt to ascertain the location of doorways and walls.  It felt like a huge achievement when my phone and I were reunited and I sat on the sofa waving the torch around to light up sections of the room, just because I could.  The general darkness still surrounded me but was strangely calming, like the hug of a big blanket. I sat there until Steve and Isaac returned and joined me after managing to equip themselves with hand and head torches.  We mulled over the possibilities- should we take Isaac to McDonalds for his tea, then spend the evening in the Tesla with its ready supply of electricity and Netflix connection? Just as Isaac was getting excited at the prospect of a 9-Nugget meal, the power came back, along with my  fighting spirit which allowed me to stop feeling sorry for myself.  I channelled this spirit into tidying around downstairs ready for the arrival of Michael (who had popped back to Manchester for a night) and his lovely girlfriend Katy. 

The evening was wonderful.  There was wine (not for me), curry (I had my own vegetable version as I’ve refined my diet further to be plant-based with generous servings of hemp and spirulina protein, because eating wasn’t miserable enough before) and lots of talking and laughing.  

Last night was tough- being pinned in one position on my back slightly propped up becuase of Bertha is already hard enough, and Portia didn’t hesitate to take this discomfort to a whole new level. I managed to sleep, though, and woke looking forward to going to Isaac’s school Remembrance service and watching him sing angelically in the choir, the smallest and blondest boy there.

We now have three days without appointments or procedures, and I intend to make the most of it with lots of relaxing and special family time.  I will be back on Monday for Chemo: The Beginning, but until then am aiming for smiles and laughter: putting to the test all of the fab comedy ideas that have been flooding in.  Have a great weekend! 

‘But Jesus beheld them, and said unto them, With men this is impossible; but with God all things are possible.’ Matthew 19:26