Looking into holes Part Three

 Pink, turquoise and gold water needles zinged across the front of my face as steam rose up through the forest floor. Tiny bats fluttered about me; they were guiding me to a place of calm away from the storm. I was running. I know that because I felt I was struggling for breath but that was easing now, I felt my lungs relax and expand as I extended my stride, stretching my legs and feeling the shackles that had held me simply melt away.

I’m not sure what day it is. I’ve been in about 3 days and various cocktails had been queuing up to for the vein train.  A lady called Sue arrived at my bedside to explain that, because of the intensity of my chemo treatment, I would be getting a line put in. So there are 3 options for me: a fresh injection each time, a permanently settled double needle into the veins (a cannula) or a 50mm line from under my arm and up to one of the fat arteries near my heart. The latter make everything kind of easy: to take the blood, pump in the antibiotics and chemo and liquid paracetamol. High temperature and a very nasty cough have been stalking me since I came in so I’m hoping we can subdue these apocalyptic horse whisperers. Liquid paracetamol is fantastic and although my temperature hasn’t dropped below 37c I can feel it’s working it’s magic.

I’m working my way into a routine. The family has been fantastically supportive and, despite Brexit, the supply chain of dirty washing, clean washing, fresh fruit et al has got a lot smoother. In the hospital itself I can feel that there are systems and processes in place that leave me unquestioning of any procedure because I think advice from a telecoms consultant on appropriate blood cancer treatments might be less than helpful.

My overall emotion now is gratitude; for my family who are re-organising their lives to provide me with maximum support and pick the threads I so unceremoniously was  torn from and the hospital which simply knows what it’s doing and who’s main concern is to get me to a better place in terms of my ability to ward off the attack on Fort Stephen. I actually don’t feel that bad, aside from the green poo, pink wee and that damn cough trapping my voice inside it. I guess my role is just to be the project for now and the fixed point about which everything else turns. I really didn’t want to be a burden when I got old and I hope, down the road that will not be the case.

My younger son has come down to my house and just taken up the reins. Bank accounts, bills car insurance, cooking, anything really. . I have three children all of whom  I’m proud and all of whom bring something to the party. My eldest is a positive and willing fun dynamo who motivates everyone around him, my second son is a focussed force of nature and my daughter, who has two children and is pregnant, has still managed to organise baking and presents for my wife and grandson’s coterminous birthdays. As for my wife she is relentlessly practical. I joked when we met  that marrying a former geriatric nurse would be a good investment but it’s proven so. I also love her. 

I’m not going to go through my whole extended support , my siblings  who took 2.4secs to confirm they’re up for a bone marrow transplant if needed or my wife’s sister and family who descended on the house like a hospital crash team . It’s enough that I know my wife and I have everything we need emotionally and practically to get through this.

My platelets were low and I was being prepared for a transfusion of soupy platelet magic. The nurse asked if I sensed any irritation, rash of shortage of breath I should let her know. I’m in a bed overlooking a school, a wooded area and, as the night descends, numerous firework displays.

“ I’m really itchy, a rash is spreading across my body and I’m struggling to breath.”

“ stay calm we’ll get you some oxygen, pump in the anti-histamine, fit the nebuliser”

I begin to panic. I’m surrounded by a flutter of concerned bodies. I can see the fireworks outside through the window and feel spots of water splashing over my face. I go to a safe place.