This afternoon, I went to the hospital to get my pumped unhooked. It was a nice day. I rode my bicycle and was decked out for a little ride in the woods afterwards, when I would be unencumbered by the pump with its meter of clear tubing from my hip to my chest.
This is not the normal way of cancer patients to arrive for any part of their therapy, but I’m not a normal patient. Thank goodness for that. Most of the time, I see the disease as an adventure, a challenge, a trial. I find it easy to fool myself and draw strength from that. Earlier today, in the first couple of hours after lunch, fatigue had swept over me. I very nearly fell asleep on the sofa. Riding my bike to the hospital got my circulation back in gear and my body back to life.
At the hospital, patients have to undergo a procedure that, in its absurdness, painfully reminds me of the security theater at airports, if anyone still remembers those. When corona held Switzerland in its thrall, with around 1500 new cases a day for a short time, one had to have an appointment and was given a mask upon entering the hospital. Visitors were not allowed.
Over the last month and a half, as the virus has retreated to a dozen cases a day, the measures at the hospital have progressively been tightened. First, there was a wristband. It came in many colors but without an explanation. Then one had to show proof of an appointment and not just claim to have one. Next, you’ll probably have to show your ID, and a member of the security team will escort you to your appointment. It seems that the pandemic team at the hospital or the canton is trying hard to keep the product of the level of threat and the extent of the countermeasures a constant, instead of designing the measures to be proportional to the threat. It is hard to take this seriously at this point.
Once I had made it inside, furnished with a green wristband and a deteriorating mood, I wandered through deserted hallways in eerie silence. It was a holiday, and the ground floor of the hospital appeared abandoned. The outpatient clinic should have been closed, but a nurse had come in briefly for a few patients with undeniable needs. There was no receptionist and no clear indicator of where to go, but with only a few rooms, I checked them out one by one until I was welcomed.
As the nurse did her work of removing the pump, flushing the lines and unhooking the needle from the port in my chest, she quizzed me on how I was feeling. Word had got around that I’m fasting. The nurse wanted to know about side effects, how long I had been fasting and whether I had eaten. I felt like a minor celebrity during the ten minutes it took the nurse to send me to freedom.
I am a bit disappointed that the doctor so strongly in support of fasting hasn’t shown yet. I half expected him to wander in during my first chemo session, to see how I was doing. I would like to thank him for his support and shout abuse at him for making me suffer. It would also be interesting to have a longer chat to see if he had any insights that I missed. Not to worry, there’s plenty of time left for that.
0 comments:
Post a Comment