The bad thing with this blog is that I’m more active when I’m in the hospital, with all the time in the world to write. You must think I’m half dead because you only get to read the bad parts. For all you know I’m still suffering diarrhea and abdominal pain of unclear origin. Continue reading to find out that this is not the case and be assured that there are only a few bad days that interrupt my life.
On Wednesday, I was once again released from the hospital. I had progressed from liquid food to solids within a couple of days and was now ready to eat normally. The IV drip was long gone. I had been hungry almost constantly the last two days. My belly didn’t hurt anymore under the doctor’s inquisitive fingers, and even my poo firmed up.
In a scary sign that hospital has almost become a second home to me, the first thing I did upon leaving the ward was stop at the cafeteria. As I said, I was hungry. I seriously contemplated getting a coffee and a pastry and relaxing for a while and maybe writing the next post. It’s a nice cafeteria in a nice hospital. Sense prevailed. I just got the pastry and ate it on the way to the bus home.
Before they let me out, the doctors gave me prescriptions for an antibiotic and to soothe my stomach. Self-medication has since turned out to be one of the hardest things. I’ve never done drugs in my life. Now I’m supposed to stick to schedules and remember to take pills every eight hours. I’m constantly behind. This is not an easy habit to get into. Good thing chemotherapy works by transfusion.
On Thursday, I went to work primarily to attend group meeting. I had told my boss that I’d announce my diagnosis to the group, to explain my long absences and reassure them that I’m alright – for now and for the most part. It seemed to me easier to do this with a little speech than in a dozen awkward conversations.
The closer I got to the occasion, the more I doubted my approach. On the one hand, I didn’t feel strong enough to rise in front of all of my colleagues and tell them my life-threatening condition. On the other hand, I wondered what message I would send. Wouldn’t they all feel forced to react in some way? What right do I have to impose myself like this? It’s a bit unfair to put something in front of someone in such a semi-anonymous way. It will have to be many awkward conversations, but so far I haven’t found the strength for a single one of them.
In the evening, I rode my bicycle home from work. I had bought a new bicycle just a few months ago, a curious hybrid that I found in a Google ad when looking for something quite a bit different. It’s got the wheels and simplicity of a cross bike, the price tag of a city bike, the wide handlebar of a modern mountain bike, and the stiffness of a racer. It was cheap but looks and rides nice. On the road, it rides almost like a road bike, but I can also take it through the forest between work and home. It wouldn’t survive serious trails but fire roads are good fun.
That evening, in a display of good judgment that doesn’t come to me easily, I dropped the idea of the forest in favor of the road. It’s less enjoyable but smoother, and I thought my belly might appreciate my concern. Since leaving the hospital after the surgery, I hadn’t got an update on the bike and running prohibition. Better take it easy, I thought. The road was indeed a good idea, as every little bump reminded me that I’m not fully restored yet. The forest would have been stupid.
Maybe going to work was stupid in the first place. I had a sick note to last me all week. Shouldn’t I rest when I can? Shouldn’t I conserve my resources for the upcoming therapy instead of pulling hard at work? Maybe the key to my suffering, not only last weekend but also the knock-out a week earlier is my going too hard, too fast? Am I irresponsible?
I am who I am. I don’t think cancer has changed me yet, and I have a suspicion it won’t. I’m too stubborn for this. There’s no way I’m going to slow myself down, especially if I feel good, and I do feel much better than at any point since surgery. I get small pangs from my belly on occasion but they are reminders rather than pain. I can ride my bicycle. It’s no exaggeration to say that I’m back to normal.
0 comments:
Post a Comment