The House of Horrors

Luk 21:25 And there shall be signs in the sun, and in the moon, and in the stars; and upon the earth distress of nations, with perplexity; the sea and the waves roaring;

Luk 21:26 Men's hearts failing them for fear, and for looking after those things which are coming on the earth: for the powers of heaven shall be shaken.

Psa 46:1 God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.

Psa 46:2 Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea;

Psa 46:3 Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. Selah.

Rom 8:38 For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come,

Rom 8:39 Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

It is day 3 after my first Chemo treatment, and I'm starting to feel sufficiently able to write.

Thursday was the day to visit the HoH and because my DH knows I'm no good on my own in these places, he took 2 days off work. And so we had yet another romantic date.

In fact, when we arrived at the hospital, we were taken by the nurse manager to a comfortable lounge room, where she enthused about how pleased she was to have DH there, because she could now personally assure him He is the Boss in our relationship for the forseeable future. She launched into a discussion of the side effects and what to expect, and told DH in no uncertain terms that if my temperature gets to 38 deg he is to drag me to the hospital, no arguments!

She also gently told us that many couples in our situation very sadly stop holding and hugging each other because they are afraid of the toxicity.... she encouraged us to continue in our affection, but anything too intimate will require Protection! She also tastefully, as only a nurse can, explained that hygeine and cleaning up of any bodily fluids (eg. vomit) must be done well and properly.

After her chat, we were told that because the wait was quite long today, we could stay where we were and the doctor would come to me and put in the canula and take my blood. When he arrived information emerged as to why there was a wait - the doctor had his priorities right! The Tasmanian Tigers were playing the Sheffield Shield Final, and He is the team doctor, and all patients for the day were 'moved up' so he could get to the cricket ASAP.

Although reasonable looking, his face was a mask, because he was a true vampire who stuck me with the needle and really hurt ( I still have a big bruise on my hand!). Not too long after we were taken to the House of Horrors (AKA Gibson Unit or Number 82). It looked pretty: a long narrow room, lined with blue recliner chairs along both walls, except for a nook in which there was a bed. I got the bed, because the long room was full.The nook and chairs each had their own peach coloured curtains, but no-one had theirs closed.

At first I thought I was wrong to call it the HoH, because everyone seemed calm and quiet, but the longer I was there ( 4 hours all told) the more I saw their pain, tiredness, discomfort and fear, and it was horrid. When we arrived, an elderly man and his wife were opposite us - he was having chemo, and she sat there with him the whole time. A little further up, a lady sitting in great dignity and tidiness, but after a while she slackened, and rumpled, and I was heartstricken when she finished her drip to see that she had to have a bottle of some other meds go through a port all the time. They made an appointment for her to come back on Saturday. Saturday! The elderly man and his wife were replaced by a tiny elfin couple - the wife receiving therapy this time. Dr Cricket came in to do her canula and bloods, and hurt her too - she was quite cheerful until then, and then she sat so still and quiet, with her feet not reaching the ground. She perked up when one of the nurses started discussing wigs, and what you can get from the Medicare system at the state hospital. It turns out that the cheapest wig you can get is $175 for a synthetic one.... sorry girls the curly blonde wig will be a no -no.

The tired sad lady was quickly replaced by a dignified farmers wife with an elegant wig, and a high note of hysteria in her voice. She had been waiting over an hour, but expressed pleasure and gratitude to just get the treatment, even though she'd travelled 100km, and had still to get back home.She talked about seeing a magnificent eagle with the wingspan of a small airplane on their drive into Hobart. A brave lady.

While I was observing all this, of course my treatment had started. In this long room, three nurses (plus a few more transient ones) were very busy. I did not see them sit down once. Kim was my nurse. She was dressed over her uniform in a thick gown covering her up to her neck, wrists and almost her ankles. Pink is the colour for breast cancer, and purple is the colour for Chemotherapy. Even the rubber gloves are purple. I was quickly hooked up to the drip, and pumped with saline - freezing cold and very fast. While that was happening, Kim and the other nurse Alison, checked and double checked that I am who I claim to be, and they matched my name to the toxic meds in two bags. One was covered in a black plastic sheath. As soon as the fluids were done, the black covered bag was hooked up. This was the Taxotere, and the one to watch! Kim stared at me for a full 15 minutes, asking me every few minutes how I was. My canula site was extremely painful, and my hand started to swell - Dr Cricket strode past, but Kim's description of my trouble was not enough to keep him in the room! Kim slowed the drip, and the problem eased.

With no side effects and allergic reactions appearing, Kim brought me two oven mitts and a purple glove to put on. The mitts turned out to be frozen ice packs for my hands, which DH ghoulishly realised was to slow the blood to my fingernails, and reduce the risk of losing them and my hair! Horror mounting, and my hands freezing! Two sets of frozen mitts saw me through the Taxotere. DH was given a glass of crushed ice and told to "shovel it in to me" which he did, two glasses in fact.

My second lot of fluids had to go up as the taxotere finished... of course this and the ice made bathroom trips very necessary and I became part of the fairly steady procession. One nurse was helpfully stationed at the bathroom door. Back on the bed, the Cyclophosphamide was started. The freezing mitts were removed, but I was so cold they kindly gave me another warmed fleecy sheet. I sat listening to music on the MP player. All was going well, and as I dozed (exhausted from very little sleep for the 2 nights I'd been taking steroids) the number of people in the long room thinned out. At the sound of an odd noise, I opened my eyes to see Kim with a rubber mallet bashing on the purple lid of a bucket of toxic waste (which once sealed would be shipped to the mainland for incineration). This bizarre act was OK in the context, as one expects odd things to happen in the HoH.

By 4.25 we were out of there, and off to get takeaways for dinner. I felt somewhat shellshocked and emotional, but otherwise relieved, session 1 was over. I took a sleeping tablet, and went to sleep before 9, but was awake again by 1.30am.

Day 2 started, and other than feeling nauseous, but strong enough to make some ginger cordial , I didn't know what to expect.