Ward 93

Ward 93 is where I was told I needed to be when I arrived on Thursday morning.  I had shown up for my blood test and then dragged my luggage upstairs to check in to my room for the next few days.  The ward was quiet and I walked around looking for anybody that may be able to help me.  I found a Nurse and she asked me to go and sit down by the windows.  The windows looked out onto the road and a block of depressing high rise flats.  Below I could see the next building of the hospital, with people tucked up in bed by the windows of their ward.  I watched my friend Phoebe drive away and felt tears stinging my eyes, I didn’t want to be here, back in hospital and back on a ward.

Being on a Cancer ward is hard.  Due to the lift in restrictions, patients are now allowed visitors and it was clear that some of the people had been staying there for days with their relatives, taking shifts to sit with them as they lived out their last few days.  I looked at their tired faces, remembering when I had done the same with my parents. Taking shifts, sitting with them for hours on end...grabbing fresh air and a moment to myself when I could before going back in. It was hard to watch.

The nurse came back to me and I needed to complete more covid tests and an MRSA test. I am pretty good at this now and can complete both tests in less than a minute! Again I was not on the system and so another endless wait sat by the window began whilst they tried to find me.  I read a magazine, started a book and watched the gymnastics via the worst WiFi connection, which would buffer usually when a gymnast was in an awkward position or just about to jump off the beam. It was frustrating, all of it...this whole process since January had been many long hours of just sitting and waiting!  

Eventually I was checked over by a Doctor and escorted to my room where they took me through all the rules.  Once I was radioactive the doors would close to my room.  I had my own plates and cutlery, which I would need to wash and dry myself after every meal.  I was not allowed to cross the line by the door and I MUST always flush the toilet twice and shower twice a day. I would be tested every day for my level of radioactivity, which would determine when I could go home. I then had to consent to the treatment and confirm I was neither pregnant or breast feeding! 

The treatment is relatively straight-forward.  The tablet is wheeled in on a trolley (like it’s royalty...I’m surprised there wasn’t a fanfare to announce its arrival!) On the trolley is a giant box, like the suitcases you see in films when they hand over a lot of money or a kidney! Inside the box is a heavy round pot containing the tablet.  They insert a plastic tube into the top of the pot and the tablet is sucked up into the tube.  The tube is then passed to me and I put it in my mouth and tip the tablet in with some water.  The tablet is the size of a Paracetamol capsule. Of course, me being me nearly tipped the tube the wrong way and I managed to catch the tablet in the tube before it tumbled out onto the floor.  Everyone gasped and then sighed with relief when I caught it...whoops! And then that’s it. They leave you for a bit and then come and take a reading of your radioactivity, I crackled like Chernobyl and then the specialist switched off the sound as it was freaking us all out. Then they left me alone, the doors close automatically and make a loud noise before slamming shut and there’s nothing to do but sit in your room and try not to lose the plot.  Thank god for the Olympics! I sat in my chair and watched as much as I could and tried not to think how long I would be stuck here for.

The view from my window is pretty uninspiring.  More high-rise apartments and a building site. The windows are giant thick glassed windows, which every time I look out of I bump my head on the glass, like a bird.  I don’t think I am the only one, I can see a few sweaty head bump marks on the window a little higher up.  The wall opposite my bed is a giant picture of a lavender field, I sat in the chair last night and gazed at it feeling like I did when my parents first dropped me at Uni and left me in my halls of residence...that uneasy feeling of...what do I do now? My nerves and anxiety kicked in and I shed a few tears, except this time there was no student union, no cheap Taboo and Lemonades and a dodgy burger on the way home...it was just me and a box of crackers and a bag of Haribo.