Monday morning saw the re-commencement of chemotherapy. It was both a return to the familiar, and oddly different. The Alan Walker Cancer Centre was unchanged and thus familiar - but there was only one familiar face among the staff. That felt a little 'odd'. Sue was led to a treatment station (big chair and other medical paraphenalia) that she had never occupied before so the outlook was 'off'. None of the patients were ones we had met before. All this caused us to stop and realise that life had moved on for everyone in the 6 months break from chemo.

One thing that we knew would be different (and better) was the use of the recently implanted 'port' for the delivery of the infusions. WRONG! For reasons unknown, confirmation had not been received that the catheter attached to the port was 'correctly positioned' (in the vein presumably). The report accompanying the x-rays taken for this express purpose was strangely silent on the matter. One wonders what the report actually DID say? Anyway, we were presented with the choice to wait a few hours until a doctor could look a the x-rays or 'do it the old-fashioned way' with a needle in the arm. We chose to be impatient. After two failed attempts to find a suitable vein and a change of personnel, Sue was wondering whether we had made the right decision! It turned out to be 'third time lucky'. The guy in the chair next door who was repeatedly saying how great ports were and how happy Sue will be when they can use hers was not especially helpful in the process!! Once a suitable connection between apparatus and person was established, the rest of the process unfolded over 90 minutes uneventfully.

All that notwithstanding, Sue was her usual sanguine self throughout.

[As an aside, the use of the word sanguine in this context is most appropriate and deeply satisfying to those who enjoy language. These days the word sanguine is used to convey a personality type that remains positive and hopeful, even relaxed and at ease, especially in difficult situations. Interestingly, the word derives from Latin sanguis meaning 'blood'. This 'blood connection' is most evident these days in medical circles where the term exsanguinate is used to describe blood loss of a degree sufficient to cause death. The artists among you may also have the color sanguine in your palette. Many old (or old-style) chalk or pastel sketches are referred to as sanguines for this reason - they are the color of dried blood.]

Anyway, as I was saying, Sue remained sanguine, but under no threat of exsanguination, as she was pricked and probed for a suitable vein!!

Since Tuesday Sue was been taking her 'poison tablets' (her description) morning and night. The intake of these chemicals is already having its expected negative impact on Sue's immediate feeling of well-being - though certainly at manageable levels at this early stage. As we talked yesterday Sue mused about why she was feeling so much worse so quickly, and then realised that last time she started chemo she was already in significant pain and more generally unwell so 'didn't have as far to fall' as she does now. 

We leave you with an example of a sanguine in which the subject herself appears to be sanguine (or possibly in the process of exsanguination - hard to tell!). Enjoy.

undefined