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  • Debbie Murphy

Day 5 High’s & Lows

Yesterday’s embolisation appeared to have worked and the bleeding from the tumor had stopped. The procedure had knocked me about a bit so I’d slept on and off yesterday but at 2am on St Patricks Day I was wide awake. Usually this would be a day of celebrating which of course involved plenty of alcohol and dancing. Here I was lying in a hospital bed in a considerable amount of pain. There was a lady next to me vomiting continually and another young girl crying on and off. Things always seem worse in the middle of the night but this was a new low. Things were about to get worse though as when the nurse came to check my wee it appeared that I’d started bleeding again, the embolisation may not have worked. I was dosed up on morphine and monitored closely throughout the night, I have to admit at that point I was very frightened. Eventually as the morning arrived the bleeding subsided again and the pain relief started to kick in – as did the texts of Happy St Patricks Day and bet you’re off to the Parade – if only they knew! I had chosen to tell no one about my hospital admission, only close family were aware at this time. One of the nurses on duty this day was Audrey and she was an angel. Having seen what I’d been through during the night she made sure my husband was contacted and could come in to spend the day with me. It was a first as far as St Patrick’s Day’s go, hot chocolate in a wheelchair was not what I’d planned but it was a real treat and a chance to have some time outside the ward to try and make sense of what was happening. It also gave us time to write down some questions for the doctors as I had not been formally told what exactly the diagnosis was and my husband had not seen any doctors at this stage. This is something we both felt was wrong, after watching TV dramas like Monroe or Holby City you presume that with something as serious as cancer the news would be broken to you with a member of your family or someone close, at the very least a nurse. My news came via a ward round doctor in a vague manner just after I’d woken up – not how I expected to find out. Also, there was no way to ensure my husband could be present when a doctor came to see me as the ward rounds varied and visiting times are strict so all diagnosis so far had been given to me alone. By writing down questions between us we would at least be able to hopefully get some straight answers.

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