MARCH 5 — Most of my life I have been pretty stoic about getting injections or blood draws and even as a child I wasn’t bothered by syringes or needles.
Now the thought of getting my blood drawn at KL General Hospital (HKL) makes me want to run away to the Antarctica, because dying from exposure while watching penguins in the flesh seems a lot more pleasant than yet another unpleasant hospital visit.
Let me explain.
Blood draw sessions are depressing; you’re huddled into a small room and often in the mornings, there are no more empty seats left, forcing you to stand.
My Monday draw session was painful to the point I yelled… twice.
The first draw on my arm was unsuccessful and the second had to be done on my hand, both times it hurt enough I yelled and my hand was sore for hours after.
How do sick people do this so often? How do the chronically ill manage without going insane, knowing that pain is waiting for them?
Maybe I’ll just have to internalise Geena Davis’ line from Long Kiss Goodnight: “Life is pain. Get used to it.”
Where my kidney is stressed
Much as I hate them, blood draws are important to ascertain the health of my other organs.
While my echocardiogram has found my heart has survived three chemo sessions without much damage, my blood test results are less rosy — my potassium levels are off the charts while my liver readings are also worrisome.
This meant I had to come back the next day for IV fluids and yes, more blood draws.
Fortunately this time the blood taking was less fraught and over before I knew it.
While you’re reading this I will be in the hospital getting my first infusion of TCHP.
What’s that? Well, I will be injected with four different drugs in turn, namely docetaxel (Taxotere), carboplatin (Paraplatin), trastuzumab (Herceptin) and pertuzumab (Perjeta) and the whole session could take up to seven hours, not including getting registered and waiting to be admitted.
When I first found out how long it would take, I briefly fantasised about death by polar bear.
This business of trying to stay alive is very exhausting.
All I can do is find simple joys — I got a Hamilton Beach sandwich maker for a deep discount and making breakfast sandwiches in less than 10 minutes is amazing, who even needs McDonald’s breakfast now?
It’s strangely soothing to be able to pop bread, egg and cheese and smoosh them together for a quick sandwich.
Now I just need to stop burning the bread.
Lonely, but not alone
Cancer treatment, I’m finding, is like training for and running a marathon.
There’s so much to learn, a lot of exertion and exhaustion, setbacks and yes, pain.
If people can run 5K and 10Ks for fun I will find it in me to keep showing up for this personal marathon of mine even if I honestly am already tired of everything and do not want to see a doctor ever again.
At the hospital I also got to observe the HKL daycare ward staffers giving a pep talk to a new patient, an older woman who was fearful about being hooked up to an IV.
They told her that yes, the IV needle would hurt but only for a little while and she would need to steel herself for another 11 rounds of chemo.
“You can choose the recliner chair, or a bed, but you can’t choose to just go home!” One staffer joked.
A little later a pharmacist also dropped by to sit with the woman and explain to her the drugs she would need to take; I hope she will feel less scared and that, like me, she will learn to treat chemotherapy as something very routine and manageable.
Even if I find waiting at the hospital tiring and miserable, it’s still nice to get reminders that hospital staff are just doing their best despite all the challenges that include overcrowding, understaffing and very grumpy patients like me.
Seeing other patients and their struggles also reminds me that while it feels lonely at times, I’m not the only one dealing with chronic illness and the strained public healthcare system.
One woman tiredly asking the nurse if she could just go home and skip seeing the doctor was both assuming and reassuring — at least I’m not the only one feeling that way.
Here’s to surviving my first round of immunotherapy and making it to my surgery appointment next week and many, many more blood draws to come.
Cancer treatments are like running a marathon, so all you can do is steel yourself. — Picture composite by Erna Mahyuni
Speaking of immunotherapy I’ve just made the first payment (RM10,600) for my first two of four rounds of the treatment and again, thanks to everyone who’s made it happen.
Feel free to buy me a “cheer up” coffee at my Ko-fi.
