A Sad Day

" And I'll be cross," I said, " if I ever have to have the other one off,  after I told you to take it off when you did the first one." "Our standard response" he said sheepishly, "in the early days in the face of the panic after diagnosis is to refuse to take the non cancerous breast off."  In my 'It's one year since the mastectomy check up with the BSS" I surprise myself with 2 things - anger and tears. The tears were in my voice when I answered his question about whether I'd changed my mind about having a reconstruction. "No" I said shaking my head firmly, and the tears burst into my throat and nearly spilled from my eyes as I said I'd had enough surgery, thank you. Which lead into my "cross" statement.  In the days since my check-up I have simmered with anger and frustration. And like a pot of water left simmering too long, water has been spurting out of my eyes most of the day.

I'm frustrated because once again I was judged as not being able to make my own decisions and be responsible for them. A man decided that I was in no state of mind to make a clear decision; decided to protect me from "bad stuff". Why do they do that, and what am I left with as a result?

I will be 49 soon and I have lost It. "Do you feel different, possibly that your thoughts are muzzy?" When I tell him no, I feel as if I have lost Me, He asks, in what way? Where do I start?  My slower thinking; my problems with words, or my appearance?  My hair is grey and so curly it frizzes. This means I have to keep it short or I look like an over styled poodle. I cannot eat very much, or my stomach and bowels twist themselves into knots. I have lost weight. On the one hand good because I fit into size 6 again, on the other, my remaining breast has shrunk in size and no longer matches my false breast, and my beautiful bras don't fit properly. I look back with longing to the days of age 42 - 48 post childbirth and breast feeding when I had a figure of sorts. Those were my prime years I think. The problem is, nobody cared, and nobody cares now either. We all know it is not how you look that is important, it is how you are. Blam. (word made up by my then 3 yr old who knew enough not to swear).

This is how I are: emotional: angry; sad, frustrated. Hormonal. Men should be really grateful for hormones, and PMS and Menopause. They can blame them for women's emotions and be excused of any wrongdoing, or omission. I think I will write to Sara Groves and ask her if God just gives her the words to my life and I supply the meaning, or does she feel what she's writing about?  From her latest album, Invisible Empires comes this line "it's hard to feel obsolete."

I feel obsolete, but I have to think of my DH who also feels thus, as he waits to hear whether he will keep his job or not (again). I cannot change anything that has happened,  or have any control over what may happen, and at the moment I cannot seem to change how I feel either. I heave sobs into DH's warm neck as he pats my back and says "we'll get through this... we'll find a way. It's OK, he says, you're just having a sad day." I take an aspirin and pray for strength. I pick up a library book and start to read about a 49 year old woman whose behaviour is so disgusting I find myself praying like a Pharisee, thanking God I'm not like her! Then I have a silent laugh to myself, get up and do my housework.

"Pain is no measure of His faithfulness" sings Sara, "He withholds no good thing from us. I will open my hands, will open my heart; I am nodding an emphatic yes to all You have me". As I listen, I change my minds pitiful picture of myself to one of a threadbare picanin, running alongside a gifting car, on a dusty road, under a hot summer sun, with arms outstretched, hands cupped ready to receive, and willing to share.

The First Time

Since Christmas I have gone through a number of "first times:" - the first time I went grocery shopping since my 2nd chemo treatment; the first time I drove to town on my own since my 3rd chemo treatment; my first full haircut; ( the curls are so curly that length gave me a seventies look. For those who are young among you, think afro); and coming up as January draws to a close, the first anniversary of finding that suspicious lump in my breast.

Another first time was being able to walk the dog the full length of our beach path in both directions. On my way back from that walk, a young woman pushing a toddler in a pram strode past me, and my poor peripheral vision only picked up once she passed that she was wearing a cancer scarf on her head with no hair showing under it. I confess I stood there staring after her with my heart doing a twisting thing in my chest. My mouth had dropped open but I had no courage to call out to her.

I was reminded of the many times people stopped and stared at me when I was obviously covering up a bald head. I recall a woman stopping in the street and watching me wide eyed and jaw flopped open. I was upset by it at the time, but maybe she was praying for me as I was for the woman with the toddler. ( I hope I was less obvious though). Not all stares were upsetting: there was a man , much taller than me, who almost bumped into me one wintry day when I had been too cold to care about appearance so had a woollen beanie on my scalp. He came to a speedy halt on his toes, looked down at my head and pointed. His mouth held the jaw drop position. I laughed all the way back to the office.

One morning, with my purple and silver threaded scarf elegantly wound around my head, I walked through a crowd and caught the eye of a short haired woman. Her sympathetic little smile said: you and me,both. So I smiled back.

The attention I received as a bald person, and the compliments, exceeded any I received when I had hair. It has made me think back to other times when people have stared at me. I would get lots of looks when I was pregnant. Some people,looked with interest, some with sympathy, some with longing. The best looks I got were from men who looked at me with undisguised joy and curiously pride. I was surprised the first time it happened, but it happened often enough for me to notice a trend. It was one of the highlights of being pregnant. I used to drive an old Mini. People would do the mouth drop thing when I drove past them in those days. One person laughed and pointed. As a 16 year old in my primrose yellow dress, I caught the eye of a cute sailor with a Bruce Willis smile. We shared nothing more than eye contact and a big grin, but his "I see you" smile soothed a lot of teenage angst.

It's amazingly easy to encourage someone. A simple little smile, nod, or a brief moment of eye contact that says "I know. " It comes unasked for, unexpected, at random, but so at the right time, that it is a gift from God. I wish I'd smiled at the woman with the toddler. Next time I will.

1 Thessalonians 3: 12 -13

1. And the Lord make you to increase and abound in love one toward another, and toward all men, even as we do toward you:
2. To the end he may stablish your hearts unblameable in holiness before God, even our Father, at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ with all his saints.

Driving Miss Crazy

Tomorrow it will be six months since my really cool brain surgery, and I'm pleased to say that the insult to my brain has given me real insight into the effects of brain injury on function. When I first came home from the hospital, I needed to walk with a stick to keep my balance, and I needed a bath stool to help me in and out of the bath, and to sit on while dressing. What had previously been unconscious and automatic, became a deliberate exercise in motor planning. Problem solving was just that! When I filled the bath too full with hot water, it was a struggle for me to work out what I would do, and I had to carefully think out each step. Quite frightening for someone who typically just gets things done! I recall how proud I felt of myself the first time I completed the entire bath routine on my own. With my my stick in hand I opened the bathroom door, to see DH beating a rapid retreat. (He'd been secretly hovering outside the door in case he needed to come in and save me.) "I did it" I said and stepped forward with my head high and my face smug.

"You've got toilet paper dragging off your shoe" he said.

My biggest concern since I returned to work is that I don't think as quickly as I used to. Since in my work I constantly do battle with bureaucrats who don't seem to think at all, I doubt that they notice or care that I may be slower off the mark, but it irks me that during my time of being out of action, there has come onto the market a pen that is smarter than I am! My handwriting, never great, has been appalling since my op, and my efforts to stay mentally on the ball, and also recall what everyone has said in a meeting is too much for my holey head. So I'm hoping my new Smart Pen will fill the gap.

Yesterday, my long awaited Drivers assessment with the Occupational Therapist came about. I wasn't feeling too confident. A practice drive with DH had him clutching the door handles in fear, and at one stage he screamed that I was going off the road to the left! I walked to the OT's office which was in a beautiful old Edwardian house. She invited me to sit in a chair in what would have been the drawing room, and started the testing process. Simple eye hand co-ordination activities that I could , as it turned out, do with my eyes closed. After testing my ability to rotate my head and upper body, she checked my feet and legs for strength. Then she sat square in front of me.

Her feet she explained, were the car pedals, and I was to press her feet with mine to accelerate and brake on her instructions. We got started.."accelerate" and my right foot pressed her left one..."brake" and my left foot moved forward, quickly retracted and my right pressed the brake. "oh I'm glad you did that she said, or we'd have a problem right off!" "No" I said, "this is obviously a manual car. I was going to put the clutch in." so maybe I can still think quickly.

On the actual road, in the dual control automatic car, I managed to brake and accelerate effectively and safely, and do 3 point turn, parking and reversing convincingly enough, that she judged me safe to be on the road, although said I'd obviously forgotten a few subtleties in my 7 months off driving. So I am booked for a refresher lesson next week. I'm thinking that after Christmas, I need to gather all the bills and expenses that have arisen out of this year of illness, treatment and surgery. But on reflection, that may drive me crazy.

Better to be thankful that we came out of it afloat. I should keep to my driving motto: reverse only when absolutely necessary.

Fear not

Anxiety whimpers, and faith comes in like a strong mother in the night, ready to reassure,and comfort; get you ready for the next day.

Were you afraid during this time? The minister asked me that. No, not of dying, or being ill, or in pain. But for my children, my family. But not overwhelmingly. Reasonably.

Some of the ladies at the breast cancer support group told of being fearful every time they visit the doctor; of every check up. I determined not to be fearful, knowing that I could cast my cares on Him, and that I did not need to be troubled or afraid, and despite a certain hypervigilence to symptoms, I have not been fearful. Then in October I had another MRI,and I was fine, until they slid me in, headphones and mirrored helmet on. It took half a minute for me to press the panic button and cry Please take me out!

So what do you fear?

"yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever"

I got down to praying and kept my eyes shut and my body still so they could get on with the MRI. After praying about as many matters and people as I could think of, prayers gave way to planning how I would get out of there if the building fell on top of me and the machine closed me in. So God kept me safe while I whimpered quietly to myself, and wow, pretty soon they were hauling me out. Sorry for being a ninny back there I said. No worries: actually if you just look back through the machine where you were lying, you can see he windows to the street outside. Right, well if I'd known I could have done a quick wriggle backwards and smashed the windows out to escape, I wouldn't have had a moment of fear!

But, what's wrong with a bit of healthy fear? It makes you alert, rouses your senses, gets you thinking; opens the door to a conversation with your best Friend, and then you find out that the light you didn't see was there all the time. But then, when the true Light came into the world he created, the world didn't see him either. Fear makes you Pay Attention!

I haven't heard the results of the MRI, but I'm not worried, and the BN asssures me I'm correct in thinking that if anything was amiss I would have heard by now. So I've been getting on with still being me, although I look different, hobble instead of walk, actually use stair banisters, put up with my PS teasing me about my 'hormone bones', and laugh at my DH who, with his injured "mallet finger" told me to lean on the table and stand while he moved the chair back, because he couldn't pull me up. Needless to say this left me sort of dangling over the table.

I now have high spots in the day when I'm less cognitively muzzy, and I don't fall asleep in the chair after dinner every night. If I do chance to fall asleep, it's not long before my irritable stomach adds it's complaints to my 763 joints trying to push out of my skin, turning me into a COW (crabby old woman). The house is much cleaner, and the usual chores are done in good time. Best of all, my visual field test showed a left quadrantanopia, and a fuzzy spot in the upper right quadrant, but I have enough vision to drive again. That is, once I get an appointment or letter of clearance from the Doobster (neurosurgeon). hopefully my KD can get some thing from him before the New Year.... yay! the neuro clinic nurse and I suspect a letter from the KD, got me an early appointment with a rehab specialist, who cleared me medically to drive! Now I just need to be passed by the occupational therapist as competent to drive! Once I've seen her, I may get my independence back, although I surely have enjoyed car trips with my DH.

As Christmas approaches I am aware that we are edging closer to being a year hence from my cancer diagnosis. I haven't forgotten about the MCGrath Foundation breast cancer nurses fundraiser. My BN has been a huge help to me, and I know that all the other women also appreciate their BNs. A worthy cause.

I'm so glad I've learned over the years to trust in God, He really has been with me in this every step of the way.

Girl Talk

It's been 6 weeks since I was discharged from the hospital, and looking back I realise, my cancer diagnosis and mastectomy kept Summer outdoors; the early chemotherapy treatments allowed me to sit on my porch and feel silken Autumn air, and Easter displayed a glorious, richly coloured Autumn. The allergy to the chemo treatment and my reaction to Phenergan were like the first cold winds that shook the leaves from the trees; easily cleared by the leaf blower that was my brain tumour, and suddenly we were in cold, dark, Winter.

3 weeks into my recovery from brain surgery, the next phase of cancer treatment, began. I had expected to be put on Tamoxifen for 5 years, a hormone treatment with serious side effects, including that 1% of women can get uterine cancer on it. No longer trusting stats, I did some reading and discovered there is a newer treatment (Arimidex) that blocks the body from making estrogen, which is safer - provided you have strong bones. It has some nasty side effects of its own, but is suitable for women who have begun menopause, as I have. Chemotherapy caused, and I quote one of my nurses here: "violent medically induced" menopause.

I have the required bone density test- another body scan ( I think I am really in some bad science fiction movie), with a favourable result. My oncologist prescribed Arimidex for me without me having to ask, and by the end of that week I have a box of medication which shows me I am back on the pill. The onco described the side effects to me - joint and bone pain, but was pleased to tell me I have bones healthier and stronger than many women younger than me - it was on the tip of his tongue to say"half your age" but he caught himself in time. More scary than anything he said, was the whole network of support that you need to sign up for while on this medication, and because I am officially menopausal. If it's not so bad, why do we need all this support?

Before I go any further: women will tell each other (possibly reluctantly) about their hot flushes, and each will say something different. For me, although they are settling down now, the best description of a hot flush is that it is like an orgasm that has aggressively, and irrevocably, gone to the Dark Side.

The day before my apointment with the onco to establish this next phase in the treatment, my Breast Nurse called me - she who kindly and faithfully visited me and kept track of my progress - ( and who knows whether her presence among her colleagues worked in my favour to boost their efficiency?) to say that we should get together to talk about how I'm doing and "you know, little things like, oh sexuality and such." "What's that?" I said.

She arrived the day after my onco appointment, and we chatted amicably about other menopausal symptoms and side effects of Arimidex, like {vaginal dryness} and fatigue, low libido,and fatigue, ... and the new look me. "At least" I said, "the bone scan, shows it's safe for DH to 'jump on my bones'". For some reason, the BN couldn't talk for a few seconds, so I told her about my definition of a hot flush. She probably wanted to slap me and say "I'm trying to have a serious discussion here!"

The new look me took some chit chat time. Basically, I've gone from a vain and skinny 17 yr old who thought her nose compensated for her flat chest, to a vain 48 year old who wonders in that brief momentary glimpse in the bathroom mirror :"who's that?" Now I have literally a half decent sized chest and am glad of my sticky out ribs. Truly one nose could never do to compensate for 2 boobs so now I'm sorted. The hair is the hardest to deal with especially since the brain surgery. My ward neighbour looked very mannish with her shaved head, and I do too, in my eyes, although My DH says not. My youngest had a friend over who saw my bald head - "you look just like a man" he said!

Nothing like a good laugh to calm down emotions, and a few more weeks have seen some changes, and now instead of baldness, I actually have an official hair style: crew cut. I also have been doing some serious sleeping and lazing around, and last Friday felt sufficiently energised to carry out my plan to join my work collegues for an unofficial visit to the support group we run. As I bathed, the signs of re growth (annoyingly, evidenced by the need to shave once again after freedom from that chore), and increased weight, made me think " it's like Spring has come to my body early, because it is still Winter outside! For the first time in ages, I put on my prosthetic, made to fit breast ( and super attractive underwear - on advice from the BN and got all dressed up to go out.

After my visit, I returned home for rest, and read my Bible. People have said to me, that it is amazing how I have kept my sense of humour in all this; but, how could I not, When God is so Funny? This is what came up in my reading :

Ezekiel 16:vs7

"I have caused thee to multiply as the bud of the field, and thou hast increased and waxen great, and thou art come to excellent ornaments: thy breasts are fashioned, and thine hair is grown, whereas thou wast naked and bare."

Forest Fairy

A full week since the surgery, and the physiotherapist had graduated me from the walking frame to a stick, and the Occupational therapist had been to see me and organised a shower stool to go home for me and was satisfied that I would not have to negotiate any stairs at home or cook any meals. I sill did not know the results on the tumour, but there were definitely signs that I was not too far from discharge. Later that afternoon, I woke from a nap to find that the ward was very busy and full of activity. The bathroom had a queue, which became enormously frustrating for both me and a new patient in the room next door to mine, although we bore it with mutual humour, outwardly anyway. I had a new lady come into my room. She was very brave, her mother had died five years before in the ward, from a brain tumour, and she now had a tumour in her spine at t2 level which was to be removed in the morning. Her brother had also been in recently and had part of a very large tumour removed. We chatted about this for a bit and then she went to take her antiseptic shower and get ready for bed. While she did, there was more activity in the ward, and I think a new patient was being moved into a ward across the passage, and I heard the nurses saying something about a patient having a contusion. I guessed someone had come in with a head injury.

After eating an egg and bacon pie which a nurse found for me, the evening wore on , and once all visitors had left, my new room mate and I chatted a bit more, and I listened to more Sara Groves and started to prepare for the night. From across the passage the new patient began to cry mournfully, and call out for help. " I can't take this, please send me home, please get me out of here. I'm so useless" I heard a nurse tell her firmly "you're not useless" but she continued to cry, and call for help. I pressed my bell. A nurse came, a young sweet girl, and I told her I would be happy to go and sit with the new patient and talk to her, but the nurse said no, she'd be alright. The patient was quiet for a while, but I was upset for her, so I prayed about what to do. The bible tells us that we can and should, use our own suffering to help others, and I really felt I needed to do something for this woman, so I prayed, and asked what I should do and how I would know if I should do something.

After a while I felt that the right thing to do would be to just go to her if she called again, regardless of what the nurses said. I chatted some more with my room mate, and then she settled to sleep and our light was put out, and I continued to listen to music, thinking that maybe the patient scross the passage might like to listen also. I lay there praying and waiting. Soon, her plaintive crying and begging for release began again. "Holy shit!" she shouted suddenly and then "Oh Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ!" Definitely it was time for me to grab the walker and head across the passage, praying desperately for the right thing to say. I wheeled into the room, hoping a nurse was there, but she was alone. I told her my name and sat next to her bed. "It hurts" she cried, it hurts so much" there was a closed wound on her head. I asked her name, and she told me. She was a young woman in her mid to late twenties. I said, "I can see you are in lots of pain, and I offered my hand to her. Her hand clawed desperately at the bed rail and I covered it with mine. "I can't do this she cried" " that's OK I said, I'll help you. I asked if she would like to hear some music, she said yes, but after a bit she started to cry again, so I said I think it must be too loud for her, she whimpered yes, I turned it off, she begged me not to go, and clung to my hand.

She quieted a bit, but then a doctor came in. She was febrile, and he explained that they needed to take blood to test whether she had an infection. "I don't care ! just get me out of here, leave me alone!" "I can't do this!" she began shouting again and throwing her body about, each movement bringing her more pain. Then my doctor Grace came in, " here's Grace" I said, "she's been my doctor, and she's been wonderful she will help you". The patient held my hand and cried." Don't be afraid"  I said, "and don't be troubled". I kept repeating that to her. As I did she relaxed and would look at me then close her eyes again.

When the doctor had all the blood test equipment ready. she began thrashing about again and trying to get up and wouldn't let the doctor take blood, so I held her hand firmly still, and in a position which the doctor could more easily get to, and soon it was done. The doctor slipped and her blood spilled over my hand, she closed her eyes and whimpered. "Don't be troubled" I said again, and the doctor cleaned us both up. Grace said she would order a tranquiliser and more pain meds. She left, but as she did so she thanked me for sitting with the patient and said I would have good news in the morning.

The other doctor left, and the patient began to cry again. "I can't do this, I'm so useless" "Do you have something you need to do?" I asked. "Yes, I need to be in the forest. Do you work in the forest?" I asked. "Yes", she said and cried. I assured her it was OK because it was night time, and she didn't need to work at night. She calmed down for a bit. After a while, she called on Jesus, again in her way, so I covered her hand again and said " don't be troubled, He's here, you're OK" . " Can't you see I'm in pai?n" she yelled." yes I said, I can see you are in terrible pain, so I'm here to help you. and Grace is organising the medicine for you. " Come on Grace" she whispered, "I need grace" she said. then she said "only the forest fairies can help me now" I wasn't sure of what I had heard, but I ignored it and said instead, Grace is coming. and repeated "don't be troubled and don't be afraid. let the doctors and nurses help you."

She gripped my fingers again over the bed rail. Then in came my Thai male nurse. I told her who he was, and said he was here to help her and would look after her very well and keep her safe. He wanted to give her the tranquilliser  which was in tablet form, but she thrashed about and shouted at him. " I can't do it, I'm in too much pain, I can't do it!" She yelled. I took her hand again, and said she was being very brave, and doing very well. I urged her to take the tablets and promised her they would help. I held her hand again, and the Thai nurse brought her a pillow to cuddle for comfort. She calmed down and took the tablets and I praised her like a small child. I held her hand and repeated that she was being cared for and doing well, and I watched her eyes glaze over. The nurse said she would sleep in a few minutes and told me to get to bed too. I went off and was soon in my bed, praying for my forest fairy.

I thought of what tragedy could have occurred to see her in hospital in such pain, but I was reassured that God knows the beginning and the end and that in His light a tragedy can be rewritten. Firstly in that he hears us no matter how we call on him even if it seems like swearing, and that He sends His Grace in one way or another, and I pray she will recognize it for what it is one day soon. I felt very blessed to have been able to help her rewrite a small part of her tragedy, and change her from feeling like she could not cope, to being able to get through that pain, until the medicine could bring her ease.

Soon it was morning, and my neighbour was being moved to surgery. True to her word, later that morning, Grace came and gave me two bits of good news. I cried and squeezed her fingers when she told me my tumour was definitely benign, and I was also pleased to to be told my forest fairy was doing well. I popped into her room after my shower, but she was sleeping, so I left her with a silent prayer, and wished her a good rest. I never saw her again.

A short time after breakfast and my shower, 18 staples were taken out of my head. Then shortly before lunch my take home meds arrived and I was delivered to the transit lounge where my first non- minced lunch was delivered to me. By 2.30 pm I was home, with a dressing on my head and chest, and bruises on my hand, wrist and stomach to show that something momentous had happened to me.

the royal neurological ward part 2

My memories of my time in the ward once I had returned from surgery and the high dependency ward are confused and have been at times distressing. The best description I can give is that it was a jangle of sensations and emotions. Will I ever get the smell of boiled cotton out of my nose, or the acrid taste of the smell of the antibacterial hand gel used by the doctors and nurses out of my throat? The nights seemed incredibly dark, although the general ward light shone dimly every night, and the glow of the drip machine illumined the bed rail where I kept my oft needed, and frequently replaced cool wet cloth, which I would reach for and place on my overheated bald head, or throat.

At times I felt, or even dreamed that I was in that storm tossed rowing boat with Jesus' disciples. The rough sheets were the planks of the boat, and the blankets were a heavy weight insufficient to warm me when I felt like ice in the early hours of he morning.  I was often relieved by the quick response of a nurse to my press of the bell. Bouts of nausea and diarrhoea, thirst, and a still aching throat from the intubation. A drink of water, and a kind word, and then back to sleeping in the boat. I kept singing songs in my head, old hymns like How great Thou Art, and Sara Groves " song Add to the Beauty" and then I would fall asleep, until the next need for the nurse. I thought a lot, but not profoundly, about Jesus calming the waters, and I imagined the fishermen rowing against the might of the wind. It was a struggle, so I prayed for the people in the ward, and for the people praying for me, and my family, and friends, and was comforted and calmed.

The mornings were long in coming, and dark and cold. I knew it was morning, only because a nurse would say, Good morning , " do you know where you are?" Do you know what day it is, what month, who is the Prime Minister? Can you open your eyes? sorry I need to shine this light in your eyes."   I seemed to pass these early morning tests to their satisfaction. I did point out to them one morning that my neighbour was getting the benefit of my answers because they asked me first.

I think the morning after the surgery,The Doobster visited me quite early. He seemed pleased when I wished him good morning and greeted him by name. I also remembered some of the names of his entourage of registrars, besides Grace. Not bad for a lady with a hole in the head I told myself. The truth is I was so grateful to them all I felt the least I could do was remember their names. When the Doobster told me the tumour had come out cleanly, and that early results indicated that it was benign, but we would know for sure in 4 -5 days time, I thanked him and shook his hand. I felt puzzled though, because I thought they were sure it wasn't cancer? Clearly more tests had to be done to be sure.

The days were better than the nights, and I made an effort to get to know my room mate. I quickly realised that the neurological ward is a place of suffering for many. There are young and old, male and female, many with tumours or brain injury of some kind. My room mate had seen her share of suffering, as I found out as we bonded over our each having a husband named D who has cared for us in illness. My room mate had been through Grave's disease and encephalitis, and was in to have the shunt in her brain replaced, which I think had been done the day before my op. She was a very brave woman, and I felt really mean for being annoyed by her voice, and was glad I had not complained, or asked to be moved, but honestly, I had felt like screaming that first day.

Later that night, I had opportunity to show her some kindness. I was lying in my bed having just had a wash and bed linen change, when there was a loud crash and I was drenched with my bedside jug of water and a cup of cold tea! My neighbour had stood up, and slipped in her TEDS and landed under my bedside table! I could see nothing of what had happened but was able to ring for the nurses, who sorted us both out. The poor woman was very shaken and upset. But the nurse and I reassured her everything was fine, and after a while we both settled for the night, her to sleep and me to more stormy rowing.

I listened to Sara Groves on my PS' ipod (for goodness sake who knows how to work those things?) The song was Kingdom Comes, which includes the words " when you're laying down and dying" and I thought dramatically, that is how I feel. Knowing that someone could recognise that feeling and sing about it was actually very encouraging. I thanked God for gifting Sara Groves with the words and music of my life. There is definitely nothing like music and singing to lift you up when you're feeling low. Her song Add to the Beauty, once again affirmed for me that , quite simply, that is my goal in life. I then thought about my neighbour in the next bed, who when younger, had joined the navy, I surmised the slightly unstable childhood she had hinted at drew her to a life of order. In the navy, She was a rear gunner, and her task was to polish the shells for the cannon.  It was her pride and joy to keep them shining and beautiful. This was just another discordant jangle for me, but I know that beauty is something we all seek, and if to some extent we can create it, so much the better. I could only admire her for making the best of her life. I got through another night to a freezing morning, but this time, after the routine morning quiz, I asked to have my overhead light switched on, and managed to read my bible for a few minutes - I opened it at Psalm 17, which was very appropriate to the night I had just passed:

1. Hear the right, O LORD, attend unto my cry, give ear unto my prayer, that goeth not out of feigned lips.
2. Let my sentence come forth from thy presence; let thine eyes behold the things that are equal.
3. Thou has proved mine heart; thou hast visited me in the night; thou has tried me, and shalt find nothing; I am purposed that my mouth shall not transgress.
4. Concerning the works of men, by the word of thy lips I have kept me from the paths of the destroyer.
5. Hold up my goings in thy paths, that my footsteps slip not.
6. I have called upon thee, for thou wilt hear me, O God: incline thine ear unto me, and hear my speech.
7. Shew thy marvellous lovingkindness, O thou that savest by thy right hand them which put their trust in thee from those that rise up against them.
8. Keep me as the apple of the eye, hide me under the shadow of thy wings,
9. From the wicked that oppress me, from my deadly enemies, who compass me about.
10. They are inclosed in their own fat: with their mouth they speak proudly.
11. They have now compassed us in our steps: they have set their eyes bowing down to the earth;
12. Like as a lion that is greedy of his prey, and as it were a young lion lurking in secret places.
13. Arise, O LORD, disappoint him, cast him down: deliver my soul from the wicked, which is thy sword:
14. From men which are thy hand, O LORD, from men of the world, which have their portion in this life, and whose belly thou fillest with thy hid treasure: they are full of children, and leave the rest of their substance to their babes.
15. As for me, I will behold thy face in righteousness: I shall be satisfied, when I awake, with thy likeness.

The day got busier, with a visit from the doctors, but still no test results on the tumour. They urged me to eat and drink. I had been put on a minced diet because of not being able to swallow. Need I say more? I had eaten only jelly and a bit of yoghurt. Sometime in the day the physiotherapist came to assess me. It was decided that I could move around with a forearm walker - which was good, because then I could get to the bathroom, if a nurse was with me. At some stage I was assessed again because the nurses dobbed me in for crashing into things (like walls) and my peripheral vision was iffy to say the least. Nevertheless, once I was moving around, things got a lot better and as the days passed, the nurses had me taking showers, and sitting in the chair to eat my meals. Although the order for minced food was changed to a full ward diet, the kitchen did not get the message. Also someone in the kitchen was choosing my meals for me, so I had no say in the matter, and was given the same meal for lunch and dinner. The nurses were very patient with my complaints, thank goodness, because I was very irritable and a bit emotional. Each time I lifted the cover to find more minced food my overwhelming desire was to throw the tray across the room and watch with satisfaction as the green peas and mash would slide down the wall. Oh self control! I think the nurses heard the tears in my voice, and would kindly chase down the food trolley to bring me something more appetising. The problem was only sorted out by the lunch time just before I was discharged. Nevertheless, I survived.

My neighbour was also assessed by the physio after her fall, and it was decided that she would be moved down to the rehab ward. I had the room to myself for a short while, but the ward is a busy one with new patients all the time. The next few days are a blur of increasing activity for me, and I started to eat a bit more, and my stomach settled a little, but not much. The nights became easier too. One of the registrars visited me quite late one night to tell me not to worry about the peripheral vision problem, it should improve as the swelling goes down. Still no results on the tumour, but I resolved to put it out of my mind.

A few more days passed and nights, and I was definitely stronger, and enjoyed the family visits with more energy. In the preceding days I had had the drain removed from my brain , and the tight bandage taken off. A line in my ankle was removed, as was one in my hand. Every morning I had blood taken, and every day heparin injections into my stomach. All these events were painful, but none so much as having the central line removed, from the area below my collar bone. Later that night after the central line was removed, in the dark. I felt a trickle of fluid on my neck, and was horrified to find it felt sticky like blood. I pressed the bell and the gentle male nurse from Thailand came in asking what he could help me with. I was right: it was blood, and therefore he had to gown and glove up, clean me , disinfect the area and stop the bleeding. He explained that it was very important to do this as the line area leads to my heart, and "we have to prevent infection". This resulted in another long dark night of prayer.

Having the intravenous line removed made showering and moving around much easier, and also I could now wear my own pyjamas, instead of the hospital gowns, and I could be warmer! The days passed and I continued to improve, and then it was the next Wednesday  a a week since my surgery.